


every move in time, the sun on your side

by moonbend



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Ambassador Sokka (Avatar), Angst, Assassination Attempt(s), Bisexual Sokka (Avatar), Bisexual Suki (Avatar), Bisexual Zuko (Avatar), F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Non-Linear Narrative, Not Canon Compliant, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Post-War, Slow Burn, bc i dont remember what does or doesn't happen, dumb angsty gay shit, i just want everybody to be gay and happy, it's about the tenderness it's about the yearning, not that graphic but suki does kill a man, swordplay (not a euphemism) as an expression of love, the language of tea is actually something that can be so personal, transcontinental pining, we STAN supportive parental figures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25535053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonbend/pseuds/moonbend
Summary: The sparse words Sokka’s said to him since he pulled him impossibly close have been indifferent,over here, leave it a moment, ready. When Sokka meets his gaze, he half grins until he turns back to his work, but when Zuko steals a glance at him his face is set as if what lies underneath is a grimace, as if he's not up to keeping up the act for any longer than he needs to. Sokka's dealing with enough—or so he presumes from what he's gathered from Suki, which isn't even much—and it's not fair to ask him to paste a smile on his face because Zuko doesn't know how to ask,Is this okay? Is it okay that I've done this? That I know you? That, at least, I think I do?They met in a whirlwind that asked too much of them and now, they still have the weight of the world on their shoulders, but at least they have the space to breathe. In the wide open plain that stretches out in front of them, maybe they no longer fit together like they did before. Maybe they shouldn’t.orSokka returns to the Fire Nation capital for the first time in a long while. Some things change. Others don't. It's hard to tell the difference. [Ambassador Sokka AU]
Relationships: Aang/Katara (Avatar), Bato/Hakoda (Avatar), Mai/Ty Lee (Avatar), Minor or Background Relationship(s), Sokka/Suki (Avatar), Sokka/Suki/Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Suki/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 42
Kudos: 154





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this has not been edited sorry! title from just a touch - perfume genius bc i love :))) pain :)))))

It’s been hours since they finished their meal, but not one of them has made a sincere effort bring the night to a close. Ty Lee’s enthusiastically showing off her new skills to Suki and Mai, mimicking throwing small blades all across the room. Before she joined the Kyoshi Warriors at the palace, she’d always counted on Mai to be by her side in a fight. She'd struggled at the beginning of her training to handle simplest of knives, fighting better without her fans than with them. Years of practice later, she can manipulate them and shoot daggers while in the middle of even her most convoluted tumbling passes. Mai is only slightly disappointed she doesn’t actually take her daggers out for the demonstration.

Zuko’s half-listening to their conversation, sated and a bit fatigued, in a good way. He’s glad he decided to make dinner instead of turning in early like he'd been planning to. He’d _decided_ to come, he tells himself, as if he’d had a choice before he was forced out of his chambers by his own ambassador and security detail. Sokka and Suki are just lucky he’s a merciful Fire Lord; anyone else would’ve banished them from the Fire Nation entirely. Anyone else wouldn’t have holed themselves up out of panic in the first place, but that’s nobody’s business. Listening to Ty Lee try to impress Mai by talking about her knives, her heart eyes visible across the room, Zuko's sure the company around him was worth whatever indignity he suffered when they dragged him through the corridors kicking and screaming.

That his guards barely bat an eye at Sokka or Suki coming at Zuko anymore says something about the three of them. He doesn’t want to think about it too much.

He doesn’t want to think about the rest of the day, either. He’s fully given up on following Ty Lee’s achievements as he turns to Sokka sitting right beside him. He’s lying back in his chair with his eyes closed, arm around Suki—a perfect picture of contentment. It’s like he can sense Zuko staring. He blinks his eyes open, taking in his surroundings slowly and landing on Zuko. His gaze goes soft and he smiles something small that Zuko doesn’t want to share with anybody else, no matter how selfish it makes him seem.

Years ago he might’ve confused that smile as the boy’s simple pleasure at having had a good meal, but he knows that smile well enough now. That smile only comes out when Sokka’s surrounded by his friends. When he’s around Suki, when he’s around Zuko.

He can’t help but feel the same way.

Mai is challenging Ty Lee to a duel in the morning as Sokka breaks away from the other boy. This time, he flashes a toothy grin, clearly delighted.

“Now, ladies, you know I’d never wanna get between you two.” Suki raises her eyebrows, amused. Zuko nearly chokes on his rice wine. Sokka ignores them both. “But I’m betting ten gold pieces that Ty Lee takes best two out of three.”

Ty Lee beams at the vote of confidence, leaping at him for a hug that almost knocks Suki and him off their chairs.

Mai just takes it in stride. “You’re going to let your boy lose that much money?” she asks, turning to Suki.

All she does is shrug and nestle further into his arms. “I guess I like ‘em a little stupid,” she says with a put upon sigh that earns her an insulted _Hey!_ from Sokka and _You’re the one that teaching me in the first place!_ from Ty Lee. “But sure, I’ll put ten pieces on Mai,” she says, anyway.

Sokka whoops, turning to the other two. If he can get Ty lee on board, Mai’s a sure bet. “C’mon, it’s not like you’re gonna lose, is it?” he pleads.

Mai’s actually grinning at this point, at his hyping up the fight, so he’s fine with digging himself into an even bigger debt as he doubles up against Suki to convince the others to do the same. When they both agree to wager ten pieces of their own, everyone’s got money in the game save for Zuko.

“What about it, Fire Lord? Who do you think is going to win tomorrow?” Mai redirects.

Zuko’s been hoping to save himself from the conversation. He’s lying back in his chair, silent, watching them all rip each other to pieces. He’s sure the dopey smile on his face gives his answer away.

“I can’t take sides, it’d be unfair,” Zuko replies, pointing to the golden headpiece he’s still got in his hair. “Plus, I’m not an idiot like these two.”

Ty Lee cackles at that, while the other two move to punch Zuko in the arm in mock outrage. It devolves into smack fight because they’re giddy and full and it’s Sokka’s first day back in Caldera City in a long while. They go at it until the five of them finally seem to tire themselves out, equal parts pain and laughter. Or at least until Sokka decides to poke the bear one more time.

He’s trash talking both of the girls for the hell of it, not caring that Mai might kill him before the night is over. “I mean, sure, you’ve got that gloomy, murderous vibe cornered, but Ty Lee can touch her nose with her feet!”

“And…that gives her the upper hand in a _knife_ fight?” Suki asks, incredulous.

“Yeah, it does.”

“ _How_?”

“It just does! Look, Suki,” mock serious, “I know you’re a little out of your depth here. Maybe leave the fighting to us professionals.”

“‘US _PROFESSSIONALS’_?!“

It’s chaos after that. There’s yelling from all sides about who can call who a professional ( _“I’m a literal GUARD in this palace, Sokka. Zuko is my literal employer.” “He’s my employer, too!” “It’s not the same!” “Technically, aren’t you employed by your dad and I?”_ ), a tally of how many times one of them has saved the others ( _“Do I have to remind you all who saved who from that prison, again?” “We did that together, though!” “Yeah, but I saved them with my knives.”_ ) _,_ a consensus among the girls that Sokka doesn’t have a leg to stand on, anyway ( _“A boomerang isn’t even a knife!” “Yeah! Sokka, why are you even here?_ ” “ _Hey! A fan isn’t a knife, either!” “You wanna bet?”_ ).

Suki’s can’t stop laughing now that Ty Lee and Mai have ended up taking this so seriously that she knows it’s going to be a hell of a match tomorrow. Ty Lee promises she’ll go easy on Mai and Mai feigns fear, shaking in her seat. Suki steps in, switching sides to come to Ty Lee’s defense as her teacher because she’s as much an agent of chaos as Sokka is. Ty Lee shoots her a wink and a cocky grin while Mai glares at her. She quickly comes back to Mai’s defense.

“Mai, you _know_ we’ve been trying to get you to join us forever. Your skills are sick! The way you throw those knives…” she mimics a shot, then wipes an imaginary tear away, “ _just beautiful_.” Mai’s not impressed but Sokka’s got a smug look on his face as Suki digs herself deeper into a hole, interjecting every so often with more shit talking because he’s missed every one of them, even Mai, and he wants to draw out the moment as long as he can.

It’s not until they’ve all put at least thirty pieces on the fight each that everyone starts to cool down. Zuko remembers why they got all tangled in the first place.

“You’re staying the night then, right?” He asks Mai, voice a bit hoarse from all the yelling. He has no idea what time it is, but he’d rather she not have to go home, not even to the villas past the garden, _especially_ not the night before such a big showdown.

She looks at him like it’s obvious. Right. “I’ll go get one of the attendants to ready a room for you,” he says, and starts to get up.

“No, it’s okay,” motioning for him to sit down. “I’m staying in Ty Lee’s room tonight.”

Zuko raises his eyebrows, but keeps his mouth shut, Mai’s stare forever an effective deterrent. He’s been beat up enough tonight, thank you very much.

Ty Lee’s blush betrays the other girl’s bravado, but then Sokka’s yawning loudly and the sound startles them all. Suddenly, Zuko feels guilty for keeping him for so long. He can’t imagine the day Sokka’s had—travelling on the seas for days, getting into the city at dawn, indulging some of Zuko’s more eager ministers in an impromptu meeting that dragged on right until he showed up at Zuko’s room with Suki. Zuko’s sure he must be exhausted, too polite to be the first to excuse himself to bed. The thought of Sokka even attempting to be polite for an entire day warms his bones something fierce, even if he knows it won’t last for much longer.

They clean up as most as they’re allowed, because Zuko’s got weird rules about what the palace attendants can do in the residence, but he hasn’t been able to expel them completely. Ty Lee and Mai head toward the quarters reserved for the Kyoshi warriors, while the other three head for the bedrooms upstairs.

Sokka lets himself have this moment, holding Suki’s hand on his left and wrapping his arms around Zuko’s shoulders on his right. They both roll their eyes as he does this, but they make no move to shrug him off. He’s not convinced he won’t regret his decision to stay this time, but for now the feeling in his belly is buoyant enough he feels nothing short of invincible.

* * *

It’s been three years since the last time Sokka stayed at the palace. At least, it’s been three years since the palace has felt like a return home instead of some transitory lodging on the way to somewhere else.

Sokka’s lost count of how many times he’s visited over the years, but he’s sure it’s a high enough number that he shouldn’t be feeling like this. He’s still the Fire Nation’s ambassador to the Southern Water Tribe; he has to visit Caldera City often, has to speak with Zuko and his advisors about world affairs and customs and anything and everything that affects the two nations in any capacity.

This isn’t a business trip, though, and he feels restless without an end date in sight. Uneasy, as if he didn’t know his way around the grounds. Nervous, as if he didn’t know his way around Zuko. He remembers the first couple of camps he made with Katara and Aang after they left the South Pole, and how they taught him that it’s not so much the place but your reception of it: the warmest memories he has of those days have nothing to do with where Appa landed or when, but everything to do with all three of them being healthy and in good spirits with a common goal in mind. Maybe this is why the place feels foreign. Or he feels foreign, he doesn’t know. It’s not like he’d like to pick apart the implications of either. Before, when he was traveling, he could busy himself with drafting trade agreements, tinkering with proposals in the palace library with all his notes and scrolls and documents splayed out around him. He could spend entire days correcting the diplomatic faux pas of Zuko’s officers, recounting the story to Suki afterwards to make her laugh.

He could sit and eat with Suki and Zuko both, their conversations too full of stories about his most recent trips and their most recent adventures and he could ignore any mention of what kept him up at night at the South Pole and the Northern Air Temple and anywhere else he went. He could busy himself with making them smile one more time before he had to go off to somewhere else again. This effort had the added benefit of stopping him from saying all the things on the tip of tongue. He wouldn’t even know where to begin if he did let it go, so he’s sworn never to start.

The last time Sokka really touches base at the capital city feels at once like a fresh cut and worn out scar. It happens like this:

He’d been in Ba Sing Se for a couple of days and only planned to stay for a couple more. King Kuei had ordered the flooding of Lake Laogai, after mass protest from the middle and lower rings of the city. While the site held historical value, as Aang had argued, the families of those disappeared and tortured under the lake shouldn’t have to bear the weight of its legacy any longer.

Sokka agreed with them—good riddance to those creepy tunnels, he thought—but he wanted to see the flooding for himself. The Earth kingdom had lied to them before, and it’s not exactly like Kuei inspired confidence in Sokka. It also didn’t hurt to visit Iroh again. It never hurt to visit Iroh.

He’d been at the Jasmine Dragon that morning when two palace hawks landed on the perch outside the shop. Zuko wrote to him with clockwork precision, every week, without fail, but Suki wrote to him whenever she felt like it. She’d swear she didn’t miss him that much, but Sokka would often find himself trying to reply to two or three of her letters at once. Even then, the three of them had gotten into a groove with their writing. Zuko always asked Suki if she had any letters for Sokka when he sent his, a gesture she returned in kind. Sokka had never received two of their letters on different hawks simultaneously, but it’s not as if he was about to complain about the outpouring of love.

The hawks peered inside the shop, searching for a familiar face. The shop was pleasantly busy, with Iroh sweeping about the place, picking up empty glasses, chatting with the regulars and introducing himself to his new customers. The man made his rounds with practiced ease, all the while keeping up with the Pai Sho game in the corner, where the same group of old-timers came to play every morning.

Sokka was on his way out when the birds recognized him and started to squawk menacingly, getting louder and louder as Sokka moved closer to the doors.

He doesn’t remember much after that.

Iroh tells him later, when he’s older and the subject of Zuko and Suki comes up over a game of Pai Sho:

He comes back into the shop, letter in hand, trying to read and walk at the same time. He stumbles into a group of noblemen from the upper ring and promptly goes apeshit.

(Iroh doesn’t tell it like this, exactly. His mind is blank on a lot of things, but the madness, caustic and relentless, that overcomes him in that moment is something he never forgets).

He’s rushing through the crowd, shouting, “ _GET OUT OF THE WAY!_ ” as he shoves well-meaning visitors to the side and runs out the back of the shop and upstairs to get his things and leave. He reaches the landing and Iroh is somewhere behind him, asking him, asking him something he can’t decipher because he needs _to go_ , he needs _to leave immediately_. Off to the docks, on a ship and out of Ba Sing Se entirely. He’s getting his things, throwing any item of vaguely blue clothing strewn about the room into his bag when he realizes none of this _even fucking matters_ so he picks up his half-empty bag and runs.

He almost crashes into Iroh standing in the middle of the staircase, chest heaving with rushing after the boy. He nearly sends both of them flying with his momentum, but Iroh doesn’t flinch. In his hurry, Sokka must’ve dropped the letter somewhere because Iroh is holding the scroll out in front of him, knuckles white like the paper in his hands.

He doesn’t have time to explain. “Iroh,” he starts, “I need to go—I’ve got to get on the first ship out—I’ve—“

There’s a tremble in his voice—he’s panicking, he realizes—and if he thinks too much about the tremble in his knees they’ll give out.

Iroh breaks away from the scroll at the sound of his voice, looks at him for a blink longer, and then it’s like some kind of understanding passes over him. The helplessness and fear in the boy’s eyes as he speaks, he recognizes the feeling.

From there it’s a flurry of movement as Iroh bounds down the stairs, the fastest Sokka’s ever seen him move. Sokka is sure there are still customers about blatantly staring at the scene before them but he can’t focus his sight on anything in particular, can’t tell right from left at the moment. His feet are moving him forward and out the door of their own accord.

He takes sight of the hawks waiting attentively as he crosses the threshold. The birds remind him of the second half of the letter and he swiftly turns to go back inside, nearly knocking into Iroh for the second time in as many minutes.

Iroh’s got an ink brush in one hand and spare bits of paper in the other. Before Sokka can say anything, Iroh takes a step toward him and places a hand on his shoulder.

“I will write to them. Do not worry, Sokka.” His voice is intentionally calm, if straining.

Sokka forces an inhale and exhale, eyes locked on Iroh.

“Where is Katara? Where is Aang?”

“They’re together. At the Southern Air Temple. They got there yesterday,” he explains.

“Good. I will write to them,” he replies, letting his hands fall off the boy’s shoulder, “Go.”

For all of Sokka’s momentum in the shop, he can’t seem to move now that he’s been given permission to leave. He searches Iroh’s eyes for something, he doesn’t know what.

“Go,” Iroh repeats with equal insistence and care. “He will be fine. They are waiting for you.”

He doesn’t take another breath until he’s on the water, headed for the Fire Nation capital.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two things:
> 
> 1\. i don't know what i'm doing lmao
> 
> 2\. toph might be the most casual curser of the gaang but i know in my heart that when suki curses she does so with her chest so when she says fuck you she means FUCK. and YOU.

“It wasn’t much of a fight.”

* * *

“He’s probably snoring,” she whispers. The overnight post outside Zuko’s room was Ty Lee’s least favorite, but she could live with it if it meant she could tease Zuko about his snoring in the morning.

But Suki’s manned this exact post for years now and Zuko doesn’t snore. He sleeps quietly, doesn’t really make any type of sound, except maybe low whistle when he’s congested. It’s not weird that she’s catalogued Zuko’s sleep noises. It’s her job to know what Zuko sounds like when he sleeps. This is what she’s trained to do.

She wants check on him to make sure there’s nothing wrong. She’d rather overreact and find Zuko out cold on his bed, even if it does earn her a well-meaning eye roll from Ty Lee. Ty Lee calls her overprotective; she prefers vigilant.

She opens the door to an empty bed. Suki yells for Ty Lee and without waiting lunges at the open window. From the balcony, she can see two figures running on the roof of the first floor, one ten paces in front of the other. She rushes after them as soon as her feet land, at a certain point close enough to make out the first figure has Zuko haphazardly hoisted over their shoulder. 

The smaller of the two figures starts bending earth behind them when they see her and Ty Lee, trying to knock the two warriors off roof completely. Suki’s already in striking distance as Ty Lee levers her weight against the railing off the balcony and propels herself forward to land on the roof below. She dodges columns of stone coming at her, weaving left and right, never in the same place for more than a second.

The kidnappers keep running toward the back wall of the palace as the earthbender blasts them with shrapnel from every direction. Suki makes a plan as she hurls a set of daggers at the bender. She’s shouting at Ty Lee as she runs past them both.

“ _KEEP THEM HERE!”_

Too far in front of her, Zuko can’t see through the earth that wraps around his face. He can barely hear, either—nothing cutting through the molded rock but vague shouting from somewhere behind him and the roaring of earth being ripped from the ground. He feels upside down, his heartbeat is all over the place, working double-time blood rushes to his head.

He can’t break through the earth, can’t find an inch of leeway. The gag around his mouth leaves him breathless, spiraling, out of control, and he can feel tears in his eyes and dirt in his lungs as he twists and writhes about trying to jerk free from his restraints.

He pools heat in his hands to slice through the rock with fire, but he can’t regulate his breathing enough to redirect energy in any one direction. Without his guidance, the heat dissipates through the earth around his wrists. The shackles glow red in the dark, burning into his skin like a brand. He yelps in agony, thrashing about violently at the sensation.

Suki’s close enough she can senses his desperation. She can see his shackles glowing in the dark and though she hasn’t been able to hear him above the thunder of earth, she can hear him clearly now, a high and panicked cry that makes her want to dry heave out of terror.

She doesn’t know where Ty Lee is anymore, tunnel vision locked on the figure before her. They’re barreling to the edge of the roof as Suki realizes they’re going to make a jump for it, from the edge of the palace to the wall surrounding it. She can’t fathom it—the figure’s unstable enough with Zuko thrashing about all over. The wall is more than 10 meters off from the building. A jump that unsteady could leave them face first in the concrete.

Suki can’t catch them in time if they make the leap.

Seconds away from the edge, the black-clad figure chances a look behind them. Zuko’s lurching about erratically and she draws the blades of her fan but she can’t get a clear shot, too many variables. They make a calculation. Suki acts.

The blades are out of her hand in quick succession as the figure pushes off the ledge and goes airborne. One of the blades hits her mark, as the kidnapper growls and Zuko tumbles out of their grasp mid-flight and careens to the ground below.

She dives for Zuko, the figure shouting and missing the top of the barrier. Suki curls her body over Zuko as she catches him. The assailant grips onto the edge of the wall, propels themselves upwards, over, and into the barren landscape of the volcano that surrounds the palace.

Suki tucks and rolls as they hit the gravel that surrounds the gardens. Her shoulder bears the brunt of the impact, loosening her grip on Zuko. As soon as he’s free from her grasp he’s back to writhing about, trying to distance himself from whoever it is that’s taken him prisoner. He shakes around every sound he makes, groans into his gag, chest heaving, unintelligible.

“ _Zuko! Zuko, please!_ ” She struggles to follow him with the sharp pain in her shoulder.

He’s still inching away, oblivious. She braces and launches herself on top of him, making quick work of flipping him onto his front to get to the restraints around his wrists. He puts up a fight as she straddles his back to keep him pinned down. He nearly overturns them as she searches around in the gravel for a big enough rock, but she finds a black rock the size of her first, lines up her blade, and drives it into the shackles, fracturing the molded earth.

Instantly, they’re surrounded by flames, Zuko throwing fire in every direction he can.

“ _FUCK!_ ” She’s yelling over every blast of flames, trying to get close to free him from the restraints on his ankles. Zuko’s dizzy with fire and fighting for his life as he tries once more to melt away the gag around his mouth and the blindfold covering his eyes and ears. The glorious moment he can hear again, Suki’s screaming from somewhere above.

“ _It’s me, Zuko, it’s me!”_ she can’t stop repeating his name, “ _Zuko, it’s me,_ _stop, Zuko, please!_ ”

The adrenaline drains from his system, flames receding. He can’t see for the sudden change in light but he hears her, her voice a beacon in the dark, and he finally lets his body relax. Suki comes closer.

“ _Finally_ , oh fuck,” she says, kneeling beside him, eyes darting over his body. “Oh, _thank fuck_ , Zuko. _Oh,_ _spirits_ —”

Her eyes catch on his shoulder, a glimmer of light reflecting on one of her blades. She exhales, “ _Zuko_ ,” voice breaking, taking in the dark red seeping into the fine silk of his robes.

“ _Zuko, I’m so sorry, I—_ ”

* * *

Over Sokka’s emphatic objections, Zuko’s meeting with the generals happens sooner rather than later. Zuko’s done nothing but rest for the last couple of days, and after Katara’s go-ahead, he sees no reason to keep delaying the inevitable. And quite frankly, he’s had enough of Sokka’s disapproving lectures to last him multiple lifetimes. If Sokka really wanted things to go his way, then _he_ should’ve become Fire Lord. But he didn’t, so he is, instead, invited to shut the fuck up.

Katara doesn’t necessarily approve of the meeting, either, but the whole palace is tense enough as it is to fight this particular battle. She’s learned, as much as Sokka has if you ask her, that that at a certain point Zuko will do what he wants and there’s no point in trying to convince him otherwise. It’s under protest, but she declares his good health, nonetheless.

Aang, for his part, is counting his days as successes if everyone goes to bed alive. He’s focusing his efforts on going where he’s needed, getting out of the way when he’s not, and hoping that this will be enough. At the moment, this means calling for Zuko’s dinner and letting the palace attendants know the meeting is on, while Katara gathers her healing equipment. It’s a simple enough task.

“Are you up to having dinner downstairs?”

“I—” Zuko’s still in his bed. His body doesn’t feel like it belongs to him, yet. The fear that if he got up he’d come tumbling down is what has him abandoning whatever pretend answer he was about to give.

“No, not really.”

“Alright, no worries. I’ll ask them to bring it up.”

Zuko has a lot of worries. He is full of them, actually. “Thank you.”

He thinks of the others. It’s a constant battle to remind himself that their treating him like some fine crystal about to shatter stems from their concern and nothing else. The way Aang is speaking to him, calm and low, though, it’s too genuine for him to do anything but lean into it. How much he cares and how little he asks for return, even when Zuko’s like this…

He wonders if Aang knows how much he reminds Zuko of his uncle. He can’t imagine the past couple of days without him.

Katara didn’t tell him he would feel like this afterwards, all threadbare and raw. He needs to get a grip. She interrupts his thoughts, looking at him, open, and a swell of emotion rises in his chest. He has to look up at the ceiling to stop himself from crying.

“Would you like us to stay?” Katara asks, taking a break from tidying up around the bed.

He musters a nod.

“Okay.”

The three of them eat in a close silence on the floor. He’s serving himself some rice when he realizes he’s still in his robes while the other two are fully clothed. He chuckles at the picture they must make. Eating like this, cross-legged and illuminated by fire, his heart is heavy with all the memories of eating together like this with the rest of the others. Sharing meals like this is why he can even call Aang and Katara his friends.

They finish their food and Katara helps him undress and change into his official robes. He’s too exhausted to bother with embarrassment. Once he’s dressed, she beckons him to take a seat at the foot of the bed. She gathers his hair up at the crown of his head, one unruly lock at a time, and gingerly ties it all together with a red ribbon. He hands her his headpiece and she places it in his hair, careful. He closes his eyes, hoping to live in the warmth of the moment for a while longer.

They leave his room together. Downstairs, Katara heads to the others, while Aang leads him to the Tribunal on the opposite side of the palace. Zuko’s gradually gaining the feeling in his legs back, but he’s glad to have Aang’s arm around his waist, offering him support so he doesn’t have to strain himself on the journey.

In the Tribunal, the two generals and the justice are seated at the far side of the table, while Suki and Ty Lee are on the side closest to him, at his left. Suki and Ty Lee are in their armor, face paint striking in the firelight.

They stand when he arrives.

“Good evening, Fire Lord Zuko,” the generals bow in unison.

He dismisses them, “Please, please. Everybody take a seat, please.”

Aang takes his place at Zuko’s right hand side after helping Zuko to his seat. He startles; he didn’t know Aang was staying, thought he was just making sure he didn’t collapse on the way over. He was under the impression he was convening with his advisors for a simple debriefing, something to transition things back to normal. He curses quietly. If he wasn’t dreading this meeting before he’s certainly dreading it now. A simple debriefing doesn’t require the presence of the Avatar. 

“Good evening, General Oe, General Usui, Justice Kon. Good evening, Warrior Suki, Ty Lee. Thank you for your patience with me and with each other,” he presses on, the faster it starts the faster it ends.

He meets the eyes of everyone around the table; at least the mood is dark and somber across the board. To his left, Suki hates the generals. She limits her complaints around Zuko out of respect for him, but even he knows how deep her animosity runs. In front of him, the generals aren’t big fans of Suki, either, and their disdain for her is palpable across the table.

Next to the them, Justice Kon sits upright, face blank. An elder of the court, and ostensibly more mature than the trigger-happy heads of his military and palace security, Kon frequently tells Zuko he is dedicated to the wellbeing of the nation over anything else. Zuko grew up around men like him, listening to how they spoke when they were addressed by his father, and how they spoke when he was out of earshot. So he trusts Kon, but he doesn’t kid himself: if push came to shove, he’s sure the older councilor would make his real opinions, regardless of the wellbeing of the nation, known without question.

“This meeting was scheduled to discuss the most pressing matters that have come about in the past week. There will be time in the coming days to address any other issues or complications that may arise, so let us be brief. General Oe, I was informed there were two items on our agenda today. Please begin.”

“Yes, your majesty. The first item on our agenda is the establishment of a new security strategy for the palace.” The general pauses, unsure how to phrase the following without offending the Fire Lord, “This has been a difficult task, as neither General Usui nor I have been able to meet with the Kyoshi Warriors since you were attacked.”

“I understand. My apologies to you both, I ordered the Kyoshi Warriors be left alone for the time being. I know Warrior Suki and Ty Lee recorded written statements shortly after I was rescued, so those can be passed on to you and your commanders to examine. In the meantime, Warrior Suki, Ty Lee, your analysis?”

Suki nods once, ready. “There were two assailants: one was an earthbender, both were professionals.”

General Usui cuts in. “How do you figure?”

“Several reasons,” she replies, annoyed at the interruption, at the man’s tone in general. “For starters, their route was mapped. They knew the stationing of the guards well enough to exploit its weaknesses and coordinate an entry and exit with minimal contact. There are only so many people that would risk their lives to carry out an attack like this, and much less who have the skills to do so. My best guess is the two are hired professionals.

Ty Lee continues. “When we did intercept them, they didn’t change course or fight back until they needed to. Someone with an axe to grind would have easily taken the chance to run us into the ground, Zuko included, especially with all that earth around. They focused on getting out alive instead. They’re probably doing this for someone else.”

Hearing Ty Lee pick the night apart, picking Suki’s own recollections of that night apart—it was hard enough without the two generals looking down at them like children in costumes. This talk, so clinical, brings her memories of that night back in full force, wrapped up with the emotions she’s been holding back for Sokka’s sake, for Zuko’s sake, for _her_ sake. It’s hardest of all to shake the feeling that she should’ve never had to, that none of them should’ve had to endure any of it in the first place.

“In any case, we’re not here to discuss motives.” Her voice grows louder by the word. “The problem lies in the blind spot if the outer guard. Whoever these people were, it’s unbelievable to me that they were able to enter the palace with virtually no interception. Is this not supposed to be the safest building in the Fire Nation? Last time I checked, this was an issue that had been discussed and resolved when Azula—”

Zuko almost loses his temper at the mention. He wonders what would happen if he let the fire of the sconces on the wall flare up around them. Aang would probably put them out before they did any damage and they’d be right back here, in the middle of this fucking meeting. Shame.

“—was discussed, but the implementation of such a policy takes time—”

“—It’s been months!—”

“— _Even so_ , the recruitment process does not happen overnight. As you say, the palace is manned by an elite unit of guards,” the condescension in his voice practically dripping, “The training these soldiers undertake is quite extensive, and there are only so many people capable of the job. Plus, this training can only take place after General Usui’s rigorous investigation of each candidate. This process cannot be rushed. If it is rushed, as you are suggesting—”

“— _Don’t_ _put words in my mouth._ You’re having a problem finding recruits because you’re not looking hard enough. You don’t even know where to look!”

She’s talking with her hands as she leans in, exasperated. “A whole war’s been waged under your noses and you _still_ think a Fire Nation citizen from Caldera City is more loyal than a Fire Nation citizen from the islands. Expand your recruiting pool to include territories beyond the mainland and your ‘ _problem_ ’ will solve itself!”

“And _you_ ,” she shifts to the other general, predatory, “Fortify your regiment with more manpower so you can accelerate your investigations. I’ve seen the army’s recruitment numbers. I’ve seen the increase in the past two years, just as you have. I’m pretty fuckin’ sure you could spare a guy.”

“Now, hold on—”

Suki’s tired of their bullshit. “— _There is categorically no justifiable reason delays like this should be happening any longer!_ —”

“— _Now, hold on!_ ” Usui smacks his fists on the table, breathing irregular.

“ _Now, let us be clear in one thing_. Whatever your position or relationship with the Fire Lord is, you have absolutely no authority to dictate military strategy and your boldness is an insult to those of us who have actually sworn our allegiance to this nation!”

Suki’s yells. “In my life, I have done more than enough to earn my seat at this table, I’m not going to sit here listening to you when you can’t even execute an order! I haven’t heard _any of you_ counter with any suggestions or even a semblance of plan to address the issue at hand so don’t question my authority when you don’t have any!” Standing, she barrels through, tone hostile and off the walls. “ _All_ we’ve discussed this meeting is _your_ failures and _your_ limitations, so why don’t you do the whole nation a favor, put your pride aside for one second of your lives, take my advice, stop _fucking me around, and do your jobs!_ ”

The room goes silent the second she finishes. The generals look to Zuko, outraged. She feels dizzy with all the rage rushing through her.

There’s a beat. Then,

“Feasibility reports should be handed to me by the end of this fortnight.”

The generals start to retort.

“Your majesty—”

“With all due respect—"

He raises his hand to hush them. “I trust Suki wholeheartedly and value her judgment. She is not wrong about the changes that need to take place.”

“Yes, but she is also the reason—" 

Aang cuts him off, cold. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

Zuko looks at the faces before him, fed up.

“Ty Lee, do you trust Suki?” he finally asks.

The question catches her off guard, but she recovers quickly. “Without question, Zuko.”

“And in your opinion, do the other Kyoshi Warriors feel as you do?”

“I’d say even more so. They’ve been under her command longer.”

“Thank you, Ty Lee,” he replies.

“It doesn’t bear repeating that I trust Suki wholeheartedly. Aang, do you trust Suki?”

He answers, face set and serious. “Yes. Suki has trained in one of the most elite groups of all the four nations as a warrior and a commander. The Kyoshi Warriors are direct descendants of Avatar Kyoshi and I can’t think of someone who better embodies her qualities than Suki. She’s one of the most principled people I know. I willingly defer to her judgement.”

Zuko nods his head at Aang in appreciation and turns once again towards the table.

“So if I understand this correctly, the warriors under Suki’s command have the utmost respect for her as their leader. Your Fire Lord and the Avatar himself do not question her abilities. Yet, after all she has done for this nation, you still doubt her and her loyalty?”

His voice is steady as he questions the men. He holds on to the small pit of calm in his stomach with all that he has and he doesn’t turn to Suki because if he does he’ll lose it thinking about how furious he is at her outburst, how she’s right in spite of it, how he could’ve died that night, how _she_ could’ve died trying to save him.

All his meetings were like this at the beginning, his men questioning his intentions and decisions and he would retaliate by doing the same. Every night, he’d meet the same resistance, blaming his father for it until that excuse rang empty and he could only truly blame himself.

He doesn’t want to rule them through fear. He’s labored so hard to earn their confidence, in every sense of the word. It’s why he doesn’t dismiss the generals point blank, because he needs them to understand that whatever’s on the table, it’s a discussion, not an order. But his patience’s worn thin. He doesn’t want to hear it anymore.

“Feasibility reports will be handed to me by the end of this fortnight. That will be my final word on this tonight. I was told there was another item on our agenda. Sit down. We’re not done here.”

Justice Kon waits for them to take their seats. Zuko thinks he’s smart to let the other two run their mouths while he stays out of the line of fire.

“Your majesty,” Kon bows his head, “the second outstanding issue pertains to the punishment of these criminals. Now, as you know, your two attackers are no longer a threat,” he pauses to glance at Suki and Ty Lee, “however, the court has been discussing the renewal of one of your father’s policies as a means to address the recent attempts on your life.”

At the mention of his father, Zuko hardens his grip on the armrests of his chair. Maybe Kon isn’t so smart, after all.

“And what policy would that be?”

“The death penalty, your majesty, for those convicted of treason.”

He can tell no one wants to be the first to speak, trying to avoid another shouting match. Zuko’s in no state to be discussing any of this, he realizes belatedly. It was a mistake to schedule this so soon.

“The court has been discussing this, then?” he asks, trying to find his way out without being found out himself.

“Yes, your majesty. The court feels that, with all due respect to your position on the matter, when the policy was in place it served as an effective deterrent to treasonous activities and individuals.”

Suki can’t help herself at that. “’s funny,” she snickers, “seeing as how treason is what brought all of us to this room.”

This time, the flames on the sconces do flare up before Zuko can get a hold on himself. Suki has the decency to look guilty when she notices how hard he’s grasping on to his chair.

He’s heard enough. This meeting is over.

“If the court feels as strongly about this as you say it does, I expect a policy report on theory, precedent, execution, and impact analysis in my hands by week’s end. I will make my decision then. In the meantime, if no one has anything more to add, I believe there are no other matters on our agenda.”

No one challenges him.

“Good. This meeting is adjourned. Generals, Justice, Aang, Suki, Ty Lee, thank you for your time. You are dismissed.”

They’re not his most elegant closing remarks, but they do the trick, as everyone at the table stands to take their leave without a word to the contrary. There’s a throbbing sensation at the center of his forehead that grows stronger by the second as he slowly rises from his chair. His advisors exit the Tribunal, heads bowed, but the four of them don’t move until the door closes behind them. Ty Lee breaks the silence, coming up to hug Zuko.

“Zuko, I love you,” she sighs into his ear, “but don’t ever invite me to a meeting like this again.”

“I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” She lets go of him and gives him as much of a smile she can muster. She waves at the three of them, “Goodnight, Suki. Goodnight, Aang,” and leaves.

The interaction breaks Zuko’s resolve, and he turns to the table, hunching over, hands on the solid oak surface. He tries to gather his thoughts.

Suki and Aang both start.

“I can’t—“

“We need—”

The only grace he has it in himself to extend to Suki is a soft, “Wait outside,” to Aang before he says anything else.

Zuko’s just had his insides virtually dissected by Katara. His advisors resent him. He resents himself. He’s so tired. He wants to center himself before he says anything he might regret.

The past hour runs back in his mind. Aang closes the door behind him. The thud of the door acts like a trigger.

“If there is anyone,” Zuko turns swiftly toward Suki, rage lodging itself in his chest, “in this room who knows how much of a _fucking hassle_ it is to pull teeth with these men it’s _you_.”

He moves closer.

“You’ve been in and outside that door for years and you _know_ the work I’ve put in to get them to respect me, to change a whole _lifetime_ of behaviors. And in a single night,” he can’t stop himself from laughing, “everything I’ve been trying to build—trust I have been trying to earn from—it’s gone! It’s just gone. Because _you_ couldn’t _fucking_ —“

“Was I wrong?!” she spits back.

“That’s not the point! These men have never been spoken to like that in their lives, not even from me! Not even from _my father._ They haven’t done anything to merit the way you spoke to them!”

Suki’s tired of his bullshit, too. She steps towards him, mirroring his stance.

“You were out cold for two days and you’re telling _me_ they haven’t done anything wrong? You were gagged, tied-up, and halfway out of the palace before I could even catch you and you’re telling _me_ they haven’t done anything _wrong_? _Are you out of your mind?!_ ”

“It’s not just their mistakes—”

“— _YES! I KNOW!_ _My mistakes, too!_ ” she yells in his face, distressed.

They’re so close he can see the way the black around her eyes is smudged at the corners, how beads of sweat blend the red into the white at her temples as her chest heaves up and down.

She steps back, the fight leaving her body inch by inch. He’s not the one she wants to fight with. She’s almost whispering when she starts again:

“If your men ever cared for you what I suggested would have been implemented months ago. No questions, no excuses, no nothing. I mean, _Agni_ , Zuko,” she exhales shakily, “the day after Azula we turned our strategic plan inside out looking for weak spots. _Top to fucking bottom_. I know we’re not the size of your military, Zuko, _I know_ , it’s different, but don’t look for excuses for them, don’t fucking do that to me.”

She doesn’t bother to keep anything from him when he looks at her. He can see they’re both grieving something that almost happened, grieving a fate they barely escaped. They’re both grateful, and tired, and _hurt_ , and he is so full of it all, of all these feelings for the both of them—he doesn’t know what to do, where to let them exist inside of him, where to let them go.

She puts him out of his misery. “You should go talk with Aang. He doesn’t like to stay up too late.”

He takes the out. “Right,” he says thickly.

Suki watches him leave the room.

* * *

He’s making his way to his room after his talk with Aang when he sees her again, sitting on the floor at the foot of his door. She’s alone, head in resting on top of her knees.

He approaches her slowly. “Where’s Sokka?”

“Already inside,” nodding at the door. “He waited up with me for a bit but he said my armor was prettier to look at than it was comfortable to sleep on.”

He chuckles softly at that. She chuckles softly, too.

She follows it with a slight grimace. “He fell asleep on your bed, though. I think it started out as a joke, but he passed out and I didn’t wanna move him, y’know? He hasn’t slept much these past couple of days.”

“’s fine,” he replies. He’s really not that bothered. Sokka’s like a furnace when he sleeps. He doesn’t mind the heat.

He’s stops right in front of her, and offers his hand to help her up. She takes his hand with a smile and stands, close. She brushes herself off, he begins:

“We need to talk.”

She stops fussing with her armor and picks her head up to look directly at him.

“Not—not, now,” he tries to correct himself, to tread more lightly. “At some point, we need to talk about this.”

“Agreed.”

“Agreed,” he echoes. “Good.”

“For now, though,” he continues, “I think it would be best for you to take a break.”

Her expression turns steely. “Will you be taking a break?”

“Suki, c’mon. You know I can’t do that.”

“I think you can do whatever you want, you just don’t want to,” she bites back. “You just said it. We’ve _both_ gone through something traumatic and I think you should take a break, too.”

“Suki, enough.” Spirits, he can’t stop getting himself into arguments today.

“But you don’t actually want to hear what I think, right? You just said all that stuff to your generals ca—”

“Suki, _please_ ,” he pleads, running his hands across his face. “I don’t know what I’m doing! I don’t. I’m just trying my best here. I just—” He tries to calm himself down. “I just think that taking a break from your post would be best. It’s not a punishment, I’m, I’m _not_ doing that, okay? I just. _Please_ , Suki. Just meet me in the middle, here.”

He finishes lamely and holds his breath, waiting for her to say something. Suki says nothing.

Then, she straightens her posture and bows, knees almost touching the floor.

“Yes, your majesty.”

It’s a low blow, if there ever was one. She’s never once called him by his title, never called him anything other than Zuko. She’s never once cared for the formalities everyone else in the palace swears by and he loves her for that, for being honest with him, for staying true to herself, always. The bitter taste of bile creeps up his throat as the words leave her mouth.

She’s halfway down the hall when she stops to look back to him. Her eyes search his but her face betrays nothing. It’s a while before she speaks again.

“If it wasn’t punishment, you would’ve asked me,” she says, “not given me an order.”

He doesn’t move until long after her footsteps stop echoing down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so angsty bc i wrote most of it to low's ones and sixes i am so sorry for everything


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wild ft. sokka as reese witherspoon, pt. 1

He’s been searching the entire palace for Zuko the whole afternoon. Ara’s still out, which means that Suki’s still picking up her rotation, which means that Sokka’s alone for the day, again. He didn’t come here, didn’t make such a big deal about coming here after three years of staying away, to be left alone. He could’ve done that anywhere else in the four nations.

Near the Tribunal, he rounds a corner and catches sight of two of the Kyoshi Warriors bracketing the door at the end of the corridor. Their presence gives Zuko away, Sokka thinking, _finally_ , and he picks up his pace toward them. He doesn’t stop before he barges in shouting.

“AHA!” pointing at Zuko, sitting at the low table in the center of the room.

Zuko’s mid-pour, and the kettle shakes when Sokka slams the door open. He spills some of the water over his hands and he exhales a puff of smoke at the way it burns. Zuko tries not to lose his patience, placing the kettle back down slowly. Sokka takes that as an invitation.

“Bro, I’ve been looking for you for _ages_. Don’t tell me you’re avoiding me, too. Suki’s been working ever since I got here and you’re busy doing…” It’s only after crossing the threshold that he realizes Zuko isn’t alone. “…What are you doing?”

Fire Sage Izuru is sitting across from Zuko, sipping on their tea.

“Hello, Sokka,” they greet Sokka warmly, “It’s wonderful to see you again. Zuko did not mention you were here.”

“Well, it’s not like our conversation got very far before we were interrupted,” Zuko grumbles back.

Sokka looks from Izuru to Zuko, a little hurt at the comment, and at the scene in general. He loves Fire Sage Izuru, he knows Zuko knows this. The old sage has a penchant for haiku battles, always up to battling Sokka when he’s at the palace. Most of the Fire Sages tend to mind their own business, but he and Izuru get up to great fun when he’s around. He doesn’t understand why Zuko didn’t invite him to tea.

“Sorry for barging in, then. Fire Sage Izuru, I just got back from the South Pole, ‘s probably why Zuko didn’t mention it. I hope we can catch up while I’m here?” The sage nods in assent. “Great! Sorry, again. For intruding. I’ll leave you two to it.”

He bows at them both and leaves the room. Zuko doesn’t miss the sad glance Sokka gives him as he closes the door. Izuru looks on, amused. They stay silent as Zuko finds his words.

“I have a bit of a dilemma.”

“I can tell.”

* * *

The first thing Sokka does is get his ears pierced.

He’s back in Ba Sing Se before he can process it happening. Zuko tells him that he’s fine, that he’s healed, that the attack was a fluke and it won't happen again. Suki tells him that she’s fine, that she’s healed, that the attack was a miscalculation and it won't happen again. The both of them tell him that he needs to go and do what he does best instead of hovering over them, bracing at every tree branch that moves in the night. They’ll look after each other. For him.

The ship docks in the middle of the day, sun high in the sky. Sokka gets off along with all the other passengers, and from then on he’s surrounded on all sides with traders, dockworkers, tourists visiting the city and tourists leaving it for elsewhere.

His bags are weigh a ton, the thick leather straps digging into his shoulders. Staring out into the crowd after so long of being surrounded only by the people he knows best, the people he could draw head to toe from memory, feels wrong. He focuses on the weight on his shoulders instead.

He walks for hours. He’s got nowhere to be and a heart sitting heavy in his chest so he walks, aimless, hoping he’ll tire himself and pass out whenever he gets to a bed. Sokka’s a warrior, so he’s supposedly mastered the art of taking sleep wherever and whenever he can on command. But, Sokka’s a warrior, he’s trained to stay alert at the slightest chance of danger. The last full night of sleep he remembers is the last night he spent in this city, the night before he got Suki’s letter.

He makes his way from the docks to the middle ring. Kids play games on street corners, merchants try to sell him their fruits and vegetables and jewelry for whatever girl he has waiting for him at home. Some smile at him, most don’t, too caught up in their own lives to pay attention to another face in the crowd. He gets caught up at times, when a street vendor haggles too loudly or when he passes a heated argument between a trickster and his mark, but mostly, he walks.

The sun starts to set, and as he watches the sky change colors his stomach growls at him. He searches for a spot to eat; something quick since he’s not too interested in sitting down for too long. He’s somewhere in the middle ring, close to the commercial center, when he finds a small shop selling kebabs.

Inside, there’s an empty table near the back, and he quickly orders his food and nabs the table, setting his bags down on the chair next to him. He’s glad the ache in his back gives him something to focus on.

He’s picking up his order when a group of kids walk in. There’s five or six of them, and they’re loud—laughing and yelling over another as they walk up to counter. Sokka supposes they’re students at university enjoying a night out and he decides they’re the bane of his existence as soon as they sit at the table in front of his. He wanted to sulk, eat his meal in silence, and go back to sulking, in peace, not with an audience.

The kebabs are good, but he’s lost his appetite. As he picks at his plate, he tries to level a stare at the group when he recognizes the girl sitting directly facing him. It feels like lifetimes ago, but he knows her. _Tala_ , his mind supplies, is her name. Sokka was at the South Pole when she received her acceptance letter to attend university at Ba Sing Se. Her family had invited the whole tribe to celebrate in her honor, and he went with Katara and Aang to wish her well in her studies. Katara kept trying to giving her advice on what to pack, while Sokka just told her where the best food spots were and gently led Katara away. He guesses she found this one all on her own.

A student from the Southern Water Tribe going to Ba Sing Se University. It’s a reality that wasn’t possible until Katara and Aang and Sokka made it so. A reality that wasn’t possible until Sokka almost died, and Zuko almost died, and Aang almost died, and Yue _did_ die, and Suki saved him, again and again, and all the days and nights in between. Watching them joke around in some small shop as twilight sets in, you’d never imagine the cost of their freedom to be so high. He knows that type of laughter, that type of fun, but not really. He doesn’t know what it’s like to laugh without carrying the weight of all the rest of him with it.

She’s only a bit younger than Sokka, probably around Aang’s age, and that sets him off even more. It’s a treacherous road to go down, but the light outside has finally faded to black, a new moon out tonight, and he’s alone.

At the core of it, he’d like to know what it’s like, to live unburdened by this fear, this paralyzing fear, that even though the war is over, this is never going to end. That for the rest of their lives, they’re never going to be nobodies in a crowd, that it’s always going to be high stakes for all of them. That the war was a beginning, an open door to them and their hopes, but it was an open door to everyone else, too.

He tries to imagine it differently:

Coming here with Suki, Katara, Toph, all of them regular people, city dwellers, anonymous. They go to university. He studies architecture or anthropology, whichever keeps him in the library pouring over books late into the night and lets him work with his hands in equal measure. Zuko studies drama because as much as he says to the contrary, he loves the spectacle of it all. Aang studies something to do with history and culture, but he splits his time reading tomes written about the four nations and feeding all the animals at the Ba Sing Se Zoo. Zuko goes along with Aang, and Sokka goes along with both of them, and they end up here at the kebab shop, sometimes. They write to their parents and their families back home. No one loses anybody to something they can’t control.

One of Tala’s friends has their ears pierced, wearing silver rings and ornate chains. The light catches on them and it has Sokka snapping out of his fool’s paradise. He finishes his meal, grabs his things, and heads back to the lower ring. He doesn’t say anything to the group, and he can only hope he wasn’t recognized.

He doesn’t have a specific place in mind, but he’ll know it when he sees it, and he does: some whole in the wall shop with a tattoo sign hanging by the door. The place is still open and he walks in, talks to the shop owner about his options in clipped sentences. He chooses a couple of wide golden rings that wrap high around his outer ear and a couple of lobe piercings to boot.

The pain is quick, but he’s felt far worse.

He wanders about the lower ring, watches the city fall asleep and rise again. When the vendors start to open their storefronts again and he can tell the morning rush isn’t too far ahead, he heads back to the middle ring. He finds his lodgings, changes his dirty tunic for clean bedclothes and gets his things organized before turning in.

There’s a mirror on the wall opposite the bed. He stares at the red and gold of his ears peeking through his hair. It’s grown out in long, wavy strands almost reaching his shoulders. He stands, rifles through one of his bags, and sits back down. With a small bronze razor in his hand, he shaves down the sides of his head and gives himself a wolf’s tail, again. When he’s done, he sweeps up as best as he can and finally goes to bed.

When he wakes his ears feel sore to the touch.

* * *

“You better wipe that smirk off your face or I’m doing it for you.”

Sokka looks affronted. “You’re the one who kept giving Ty Lee pointers the whole time!”

Suki had spent the whole match circling around the pitch, yelling at Ty Lee to “ _Deflect! Deflect!_ ” when Ty Lee wasn’t using both of her fans or “ _Defend! PIVOT!_ ” when Mai had her backed into a corner. Still, Mai ended the third match with Ty Lee on the floor beneath her. At least until Ty Lee leapt up to give her a quick kiss, disarmed her in the process, and took her second victory in a row.

“I think she won fair and square, didn’t you Ty Lee?” Sokka’s still has the same shit-eating grin on his face.

“Cause she cheated! That was cheating!”

“I didn’t mind,” Mai counters drolly.

Suki sputters, betrayed.

“Zuko!” She turns away from them to address Zuko on the far side of the pitch. “Zuko, you’re the only _impartial_ judge here. Tell them they’re cheaters!”

He sat on the ground, his back resting on one the maple trees that separate their training space from the rest of the gardens. Whatever the glow of the day before, it had worn off by the second he stepped into his room last night. Alone, while Sokka and Suki headed to the bedroom across the hallway, he stood there remembering why he’d been dreading Sokka’s arrival in the first place. He didn’t want to skip out on the match—it would raise too many questions—but he wasn’t up to being around anyone at the moment, much less Suki and Sokka.

Zuko doesn’t bother to look at the group, too busy feeding the turtle ducks that made their way over from the garden, hoping he’s brought them some purple berries to eat as he usually does. “I’m with Mai. Ty Lee won the last two matches. She wins.”

A brawl breaks out between Sokka and Suki at that, the two of them too stubborn to split the difference, while Mai and Ty Lee go to clean themselves up. Zuko’s stays seated, lost in his thoughts, a slight breeze keeping him company. It’s not that he’s scared of confronting the two of them, at least, he doesn’t think that’s what it is. He feels fit to burst: confused, hurt, guilty. _Hopeful_ , of all things, playing the memory in his mind on a loop to feel the same rush he felt then.

He wouldn’t know what to say to either of them, what to focus on or how to make sure the words come out of his mouth in the right order. The part of Zuko that is certain they love him and would meet him where he is tells him to reach out. The part of him that still doubts he’s earned the life he’s living, the friends he’s surrounded himself with, stops him from moving an inch, so he lets the turtle ducks walk over him and burrow themselves in his pockets, searching for more fruit.

It’s not that he’s scared of facing them. He just wants to be honest, to tell them the truth, because they deserve it and he does, too. He needs to figure out what that truth is first.

* * *

Suki’s concocted an entire conspiracy about the fight, that Sokka orchestrated the whole thing in order to fleece Suki out of her money. She keeps going, theory growing wilder by the second, because it’s comfortable to banter like this with Sokka. It keeps her from dwelling on Zuko this morning.

They’re heading toward the residence when Sokka interrupts her. She doesn’t usually take the bit this far.

“Hey, you’re not actually mad at losing today, right?”

“What? No, course not. I was probably going to spend that money on you, anyway.”

He grins, relieved. “Nice! So, I was thinking. I’m gonna head down to the city to stock up on a couple of things. You coming with?” He asks to be polite, but he’s already got the whole day planned for them.

“Actually, I told Ara I’d cover her shift later today.”

“The head cook suggest—wait, what?” He reaches out for her hand and stops them in the middle of the hall.

“It was a last minute thing! Promise. Ara just needed someone to cover her today, that’s all.”

“…All right.” He’s a little bummed, he won’t lie, but they don’t have to cram everything into one week anymore. He’ll be here when she’s done. He drops it. “Do you mind if I still go?”

It would do him good to get out of the palace, to ease into being in this space again. She tells him so. He agrees, and he makes to start walking again but Suki doesn’t move.

She’s not used to being so irresponsible, of making mistakes. More than that, she’s not used to keeping them from Sokka. She certain he’d understand, but that doesn’t make it easier to tell him for some reason.

“Suki?”

She looks up at him, and she can’t keep this from him, not when he’s right in front of her like this. The words come tumbling out of her mouth before she can stop them.

“I did something bad.” 

He raises his eyebrow in question. “Like… bad how?”

She doesn’t know how to answer that without telling him everything then and there. He senses her hesitation.

“Hey, you know you can talk to me, right? About anything. Everything.” Her eyes can’t seem to meet his, and he moves in closer to give her a small kiss.

“Suki,” he murmurs softly between them, “Hey, hey, c’mon. Look at me.” He pauses until she relaxes her shoulders a bit. “Talk to me. What’s going on, what’s happened?”

It’s too big a conversation to have in the middle of the hall, and it’s too important to have it when she needs to be leaving soon. It’s a conversation she won’t be able to take back, a conversation that comes with a whole host of consequences. She doesn’t want to ruin any of it.

“We should talk when you get back, yeah? After dinner.”

“Sure, of course, whenever you’re ready. Is everything all right, though?”

She doesn’t want to lie. “I’m not sure. But we’ll talk. Later,” she says, shooting him a small smile.

He doesn’t want to worry, but it’s not often he sees her uneasy like this.

* * *

Suki passes out after dinner. Sokka doesn’t push it. 

* * *

He’s in a desert town in the middle of fuck–knows–where when he gets his first letter from Zuko. From Ba Sing Se to the swamplands and on to the desert that stretches for miles, he hasn't been able to stay in the same place for more than a few nights in a row.

The palace hawks hate the sand, squawk at Sokka like they blame him for bringing them here, but they stay and wait for his response. He sympathizes. He reads the letter sat at the foot of his bed, pouring over the careful brushstrokes. He lets go, ugly heaving sobs until his lungs give out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wrote this to violet street - local natives
> 
> lmk what u think!!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> recap: suki and zuko had a fight or several, sokka's sad somewhere in the earth kingdom, zuko's having a crisis/sokka's sad zuko didn't invite him to hang with the Cool Sage™️ and thats what u missed on glee

With Sokka coming tomorrow, the first time he’s come to stay since Zuko was nearly murdered in his sleep, he doesn’t have much time to figure out what to do. He’s at a loss as to why he reacted the way he did, but whatever the reason, he’s firmly in crisis resolution mode. Except this time, he can’t write to Sokka about what the most diplomatic solution might be, can’t bounce ideas off Suki who will tell him to do whatever he thinks is best and tell anyone that disagrees with him to kiss his ass. This isn’t something he bring to his advisors.

He thinks of writing to Aang, asking him what his best course of action is. It’s a great idea—Aang’s a master at conflict resolution—until he realizes Aang would most likely tell Katara and he’s seen Katara at her most powerful _and_ her most vengeful but never both at once and he’d really like to avoid that and live past next week, if possible. He ditches that plan almost instantly.

He thinks of writing to his uncle, except the last time his uncle gave him relationship advice he gave Zuko a middle part and sent him on a date where he almost revealed himself as a fire bender in the middle of Ba Sing Se. Even running through the hypothetical conversation they’d have has Zuko running hot in his robes. He loves his uncle, but he’d rather not go through that again.

He thinks of talking with Mai, except he’s certain she’d either kill Suki or kill him before he’s finished his story.

Who’s he kidding—Mai would kill them both.

He runs through the list of people he can trust to talk to about this. It’s a short list. In any case, it’s more a list of people who have the means and abilities to kill him. Trying to clear his head, he stands and paces around the room. When he driven himself dizzy, he settles in front of the window of the study, no answers in sight. It’s a bright, sunny day outside, and he stares out into the garden, wondering if he’ll ever find someone like Jin again. Jin was nice. Jin wouldn’t hurt a fly.

He writes to his uncle. Asks him if he’s available, tells him vaguely he’d like to talk about something unrelated to his official duties, kind of. When he’s done, he writes to Izuru. Izuru likes him a little more than the rest of the sages do, and they have an uncanny habit of getting Zuko to talk for hours at a time. He’s not that close to Izuru, but he’s pretty sure the sage will take Zuko’s lovelorn ramblings in stride. And if they don’t, he can always play the Fire Lord card; he gave up his dignity long ago, anyway.

He hands the letters off to one of his attendants, insisting on its urgent delivery, and lies down on his bed, willing the answers to his problems to come soon.

* * *

Sokka sends them a letter from somewhere near Cranefish Town. It’s a letter for both of them, short updates from Sokka about where he’s been and where he’s headed in the near future. He’s still in the Earth Kingdom, but at least he’s made it out of the desert alive. He writes about the progress the region’s made, the union between the two kingdoms, until gradually the letter veers toward random observations and jokes Sokka’s been waiting to share with them. It comes to a sudden end with him writing:

_was talking to a blacksmith when he invited me to shadow him a couple of days. made these!! now we all match!!_

There’s a crude drawing of the three of them at the bottom of the letter where Sokka’s signed his name. It’s them as stick figures, Zuko with flames on his head and oversized hands, Suki with earrings, Sokka in between them with both earrings and oversized hands.

Zuko doesn’t get it, rereads the letter to find what he’s missing, even tries turning it upside down to see if he’ll understand it better that way before Suki checks the hawk’s carrier tube and empties out its contents. A pair of earrings fall into her hand, followed by a simple gold ring. The earrings are simple, too, little rectangles of gold beaten down to a thinness. The jewelry bears the marks of Sokka’s workmanship, the grooves of the anvil it was shaped on, the indents of the hammer that flattened the metal.

Zuko stares dumbfounded at the drawing. A laugh bubbles out of Suki and he raises his head abruptly at the sound. Her laugh lingers, as she reaches out for Zuko’s hand and places the ring on his index finger. He blushes at the sight, looks back up at her as she extends the palm of her hand cupped around the earrings. She raises her brow, expectant.

They fight over who gets to keep the letter for days after. Zuko hides it in his room, his study, but Suki manages to find it each time. He’s not above launching surprise attacks to steal it back. Sokka sends them another. And another. And another.

* * *

Sokka wakes up alone in Zuko’s bed feeling rested for the first time in days. His good mood doesn’t last long.

In the kitchen, the six of them drink and eat in tense silence. Zuko’s barely keeping it together at the end of the table, running through his words last night and Toph’s just now. Sokka rushes in, bedclothes and all, letter in his hand, agitated.

“Where is she?” He stares directly at Toph before he remembers she can’t see him. “Toph, where’s Suki?”

“Not here.”

“Yeah, I got that, thanks. Where is she?”

“She’s fine.”

Zuko bristles at Toph’s blasé attitude. “You keep _saying_ that.” Toph won’t tell him anything and every time he asks she just shrugs him off harder.

“Because she is.”

“Do you know where she is?” Sokka continues.

“Yes.”

“… Would you care to tell us?”

She pretends to ponder it for a moment, mouth full of rice. “Yeah, actually, I would.”

“ _Toph_.”

“What? She’s not here. She left. She’s fine. That’s all you need to know.”

“Wait—you didn’t tell us she left,” Katara joins in. “That’s completely irrespons—“

“— _Katara, back off_ ,” she spits out. “If Suki left she had a good reason to leave, alright? She wanted to clear her head. She needed to talk to someone—”

“—She could talk to me!”

Toph snorts. “You really think she wants to talk to you right now?”

He steps back, insulted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“ _Spirits_ , let’s run down the list, shall we?” She counts off her fingers, “You’ve yelled so much at Zuko’s attendants this past week I heard one of them call you Azula—

“—I thought that was pretty funny!” Ty Lee adds.

Mai follows, “Punny, too.”

Toph grins, “It was,” then continues, still counting, “You tried to banish the other healers because Zuko wasn’t ‘healing fast enough,’ you threatened to fight Katara, you _actually_ started a fight with the Kyoshi Warriors before Suki saved you from getting mauled, you called the palace architect to fire him for designing a garden with so much dirt, and then you tried to yell at _me_ for the same thing! Ever since you got here you’ve been a hysterical pain the ass—”

Katara interjects. “ _Hey, that’s not fair!_ —”

“—Doesn’t matter if it’s not fair. It’s _true_.” She puts her chopsticks down and sighs. “I mean, I’m not judging. Well, I am. A little. Listen, Suki’s gone through a lot. She needs to be around someone who isn’t being Lord Giant Control Freak One and Lord Giant Control Freak Two.”

She ends by turning from Sokka to Zuko and leveling him with a glare. He doesn’t know how she does it; she can’t see him, and yet he flushes under her attention, caught out. He scowls.

Sokka follows Toph’s focus. There’s something he’s missing. He points between the two of them. “What’s going on?”

“She’s fine. She’ll come back when she’s ready.”

Zuko keeps quiet, Toph goes back to sipping her tea. He feels guilty enough without hearing it from Sokka. It’s not right for any of them to paint him as the villain here. They don’t get it. He doesn’t either, to be fair, but he wants to keep whatever’s between Suki and him out of everyone else’s grasp just the same. He sits, arms crossed and shoulders hunched, avoiding Sokka’s gaze.

Sokka doesn’t let it go. He repeats himself, sharp and insistent, “What’s she talking about, Zuko?”

And Zuko hates this Sokka, all tunnel vision, righteousness, and bravado. He hates fighting with Sokka, both of their tempers bouncing off of each other, intensifying uncontrollably, like a ray of sun through a magnifying glass. When Sokka’s this worked up, when Zuko’s this defensive and prickly—it never ends well.

He tries to dissemble, doesn’t want to give Sokka the satisfaction.

“We spoke last night.”

Sokka snaps. “ _And?_ ”

“‘ _And,’ what?_ ” he snaps back.

“What happened?”

“ _Nothing_.”

Sokka doesn’t know if he should laugh or not. “You’re a shit liar, dude,” he says, every intention to get under Zuko’s skin. _Spirits_ , Zuko thinks, _they really are made for each other, aren’t they_?

 _Fuck it_. “I gave her a break.”

“What d’you mean you gave her a break?”

Zuko forgot he was speaking to a five-year old. “ _I mean_ ,” he explains through gritted teeth, “I told her to take a break from her duties.”

Sokka’s eyes widen. Zuko hears Ty Lee and Katara gasp. 

“Aang told me to!” he defends franticly.

Aang spooks at the mention. “What?! No, I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did! You told me to give her a break!”

“I meant cut her some slack! I didn’t mean it literally!”

Zuko pales completely. “ _How was I supposed to know that’s what you meant?!_ ”

Sokka’s shakes his head, whistling low. “ _Tui and La_ , Zuko, _what the fuck_.”

“I didn’t know she’d take it so badly!”

“What, you punishing her for saving your life?”

Zuko physically recoils at that, the word marking him like a brand, just as it did the night before. Sokka leans in but the sharp _thwack_ of a knife spearing the wooden table stops him short.

“ _Enough_.”

Mai says the word calmly, but the threat is there. She leaves the knife where it is and picks up her tea, eyes glancing around the table to see if anyone will challenge her. Sokka scoffs at how protective she is. _He doesn’t deserve it_.

He doesn’t bother sitting down, backing out of the room just as he came in. A minute passes before Zuko breaks the silence, cursing loudly, and does the same.

* * *

Toph finds Sokka later, sitting on the floor of his room, letter at his feet.

He wants to ask her _did she really say all those things about me? did she really not want to talk to me?_ but he swallows it down, words sounding too pathetic to say out loud.

Toph sits beside him, moving the letter away. She doesn’t want to talk about what Suki told her in confidence, but she doesn’t want to guess at how she truly feels, either. “I don’t think…" she starts hesitantly, "I don’t think any of us are dealing with any of this well.” Sokka starts to protest but she ignores him, “And it’s not your fault. But Suki needs someone she can talk to. Sometimes, that’s you. Right now, it’s not.”

Sokka sulks at her reasoning, but he recognizes she has a point. He’s been sat on the floor, rereading Suki's letter for hours, cursing himself for being so selfish, for being so oblivious. To him, Suki’s indestructible, always capable and composed. And she is all those things, capable and composed and for sure she’s indestructible, but it’s not fair for her to carry that burden all the time. It’s one of the first things she told him—she’s not only her armor, she’s not always a warrior. 

Toph interrupts his ruminations. “If it makes you feel better, she only talked to me because I caught her when she was packing. She didn’t even listen to my advice.”

He chuckles, not finding it hard to believe. “Why, what d’you tell her?”

“I told her to dump both of you, boys aren’t worth it, but she said I was being ‘purposefully unhelpful.’”

He laughs for real this time. “Yeah, bet you’ve never heard that before.”

She punches him on the shoulder in response, but she stays with him for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

Zuko throws Suki a party. He tells anyone that asks that it’s been three years since Suki and the Kyoshi Warriors have been guarding over the palace and he wants to throw them a party as a show of his gratitude, but Mai and Ty Lee see right through him. Ty Lee thinks it’s cute. Strangely, so does Mai.

“It’s the least you could do, you know, after she’s saved your life so many times,” she says drily.

He gulps. He needs to pull out all the stops, then.

He writes to Sokka and Sokka writes back enthusiastically with recommendations and sketches of how to light up the garden and transform the pitch into a real dancefloor. He tells Zuko to get in touch with the Flamey-Os because Suki loves their pipa player and they owe Wang Fire a favor for giving them their big break. Zuko’s so sick of hearing about this dude— _Wang Fire, what a stupid name_ —doesn’t know who he is or why Sokka and Aang love the guy, but he takes Sokka’s advice anyway and books them for the night. Only embers remain of the letter the band sends to him in response, _Anything for Wang Fire!_ , but it’s supposed to be a surprise, anyway. The less evidence, the better.

He tells the Kyoshi Warriors, Ara and Emih taking the reins on booking any other entertainment they want and speaking to the chefs about catering the whole event. Zuko imports an entire ship’s worth of Earth Kingdom beer because he knows Suki prefers it to the rice wine they usually keep at the palace. He also knows how the Kyoshi Warriors like to kick back. He worries it won’t be enough.

None of the Kyoshi Warriors mention it to Suki, Zuko certainly doesn’t, and as most of the palace staff like Suki well enough, they don’t spoil the surprise, either. The day of, Ty Lee convinces her to dress up under the guise of a girl’s day out and when they come back the whole garden’s illuminated, lanterns and torches casting the space under a warm glow. The band’s playing as she walks in and it’s hard to choose what to focus on: the steady and deep pulse of the drums, the streamers of all colors hanging from the trees, the decorations shaped like little fans lining the dancefloor. Zuko standing alone in the middle of the fray, some distressed look on his face waiting for her reaction.

She can’t stop herself from rolling her eyes, fondness coming over her like a wave. Suki leads him to the dancefloor, where she dances with Mai and Ty Lee and Ara and the rest of them until they're all a sweaty mess of limbs jumping and moving to the beat. Zuko relaxes bit by bit and sip by sip, until he’s dancing right alongside her, giddy and looser than he’s felt in weeks as the band plays on and on.

* * *

The first rays of sunlight start creeping on them when he’s sat with Suki at the base of the maple tree, still buzzed and lightheaded from all their dancing. He hates drinking beer, makes him feel like he swallowed a pitcher of bubbles, but it’s bittersweet and it tastes like honey and he had more than a few by the time the whole thing winds down.

The others are still going, empty pitchers scattered all over as they laugh and joke around with the band. Suki hears them holler and howl far away in the recesses of her mind, focused instead on the scene right before her. Zuko’s silent for the most part, head leaning back on the tree, but he burps every so often, always following it up with a quick and embarrassed _sorry_ , _excuse me_ as Suki giggles at him some more.

“Y’know,” she says slowly, feeling out each word, “you didn’t have to do this. To keep me happy.” She settles deeper into the hollow of the tree trunk, warm and content and a little drunk. It’s a night she’ll remember, for sure—her favorite band, her favorite people, dancing until her feet hurt, convincing Zuko to do the same. It’s a night she’ll remember, but she didn’t need it. She’s quite happy where she is.

Zuko says nothing beside her, and the sky grows in pinks and purples as the dew of the morning starts to lift. Her well-earned exhaustion is catching up to her, and she closes her eyes, drifting peacefully somewhere between awake and asleep. She almost misses it when he murmurs back, “What do I have to do, then, to keep you happy?”

The sincerity of it hits her like a ton of bricks. It’s all she can do to cut through the haze around her temples to turn to look at him, already pulling back. She doesn’t know how to reply or how to translate _anything, nothing, nothing at all_ into something intelligible.

* * *

He takes in what she says, _you didn’t have to do this_ , the phrase running circles round and round his head until he’s full of it. He smiles wryly, _don’t I, though?_ Sure, he’s grateful to be alive, but it’s more than that. Suki is so much more than that: a friend, a shoulder to lean on—and all the small things, too, that he can’t remember right now but he knows exist. The fire that sits right beneath his fingertips is still there even when he’s not bending; all his memories of her feel the same way, ineffable yet ever present.

He wants her to be happy, the selfish part of him wants to keep her here, and he hopes, for as long as he’s able, that these two things are one and the same. The more time goes on, the less it seems like a foregone conclusion and the words are out of his lips, _what do I have to do, then, to keep you happy_ , before he realizes, more bitter than he intended, slurred a bit, too, but she’s sure to have heard them anyway. He sits up straight, mind running for an excuse, looking at her, eyes wide—he’s made a mistake, revealed too much of himself—when she lunges at him and he nearly topples over, caught up in a hug that almost crushes his bones. It’s a shock and a swift relief, the tension he’s holding in releasing all at once. He hides his face in the crook of her neck, allows himself, if only for a moment, as the sun comes up slowly in the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this ch was written to marks to prove it - the maccabees especially kamakura and ribbon road, which if any of you read this and then listen to the lyrics and scream don't worry i am already doing that
> 
> thank you for reading this far if u have!!!! in terms of time, i think this ch is somewhere between the end of act 1/beginning of act 2 so there are some Big Moments coming 👀👀


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> suki: interlude

She reaches Ba Sing Se on the last ship of the evening. It’s late, sun long gone and replaced with dense clouds unappealing and grey. The rail doesn’t run at this hour so she makes for the upper ring on foot. It’s no problem; she’s not tired in the least.

No one gives her any trouble on the way. She wouldn’t have minded—she’s been itching for a fight—but the city keeps to itself at this time of night. Hours pass before she reaches the tea shop, it has to be the middle of the night by the time she does, but the lamp hanging by the door is still burning when she arrives. Even then, when she’s close enough to open the door it’s opened for her, Iroh greeting her with a small bow.

She bows back, and walks through the open door.

“How did you know to wait up for me?” She didn’t tell anyone where she was headed. 

“Toph sent me a letter. Said she had a feeling I would see you,” he says, easy, then chides her gently, “It is best that someone know where you are so soon after what happened. It is not wise to be alone and unaccounted for.”

He’s right, but she’s not exactly concerned with being wise at the moment. Iroh seems to pick up on that well enough, swiftly locking the door and welcoming her to the upstairs quarters. It’s been so long since she’s been here, and she can’t remember a time she’s ever been here alone. There’s a moment she second guesses the whole thing, wonders if she should leave instead—traveling all the way to Ba Sing Se just to up and leave the moment she walked through the door has to be one of the most witless things she’s ever done—but then Iroh’s asking her a question as they make their way up the stairs.

“—Would you like some?”

“Sorry?” 

If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was amused at her being distracted. “Do you remember when you were last here, I had been working on that tea blend for you. Would you like some now?”

What a tactful way of phrasing the question. _Would you like to talk now, or in the morning? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?_ She appreciates the gesture.

“I’d love some, thank you.”

He nods and goes about readying the fire, throwing some wood in the pit and lighting it, placing the kettle to boil. She cross the room, one foot in front of the other, and sits on the bench by the windows, setting her bag down awkwardly. Without it, she doesn’t know what to do with her hands, with herself in general. She waits silently for the kettle to boil and for Iroh to serve them their tea, still picking at the skin under her fingernails when Iroh sits beside her, placing the tray with the kettle between them.

He talks as he pours. “I am quite sure I have found the right balance between the vanilla and the rose petals this time. Rose is such an overwhelming flavor, but then so is vanilla. A dash of both is more than enough.” He hands her the tea with a smile and it’s hard to keep a straight face at that. She smiles in kind, a quiet _thank you_. “I remember you like your tea with honey. I think this blend is quite sweet enough without it, no?”

The ceramic in her hands burns. Steam rises from the surface, swirls as Suki brings the drinking cup up close and inhales; it smells sweet enough. When she takes a sip, it’s just right—vanilla hitting first, rose as its delicate accent, rooibos earthy and light through and through. Suki recalls the first couple of batches she’d had of this blend, all a shade too cloying or grassy. This brew tastes different, balanced, sure, but more than that, soothing in the way that only stems from intention, care. Love, is what it is.

She opens her eyes, not realizing she’d closed them. She nods shakily.

Iroh beams at her approval and takes a sip for himself. A comfortable silence grows between them. The tea forces her to relax, to let the recent past wash over her. Suki stares at the surface of the liquid, its reddish-brown a familiar sight. He watches her closely, no intention to rush her into anything, but there’s something disconcerting in her gaze and the way her shoulders hunch in on themselves, as if she’d rather he ignored her completely. His heart smarts at the sight.

He tries for consoling. “Suki,” he begins, “there is nothing wrong with wanting to talk,” as her breath catches against her will, the cup in her hands softening into something indecipherable, eyesight blurring before her. Her tears are slow, then all at once.

* * *

She wakes with the sun, a habit she can’t shake after years of training and discipline. Iroh’s just finishing his final stretches of the morning when she walks out of Zuko’s old room, looking as put together as he imagines she feels.

“Good morning, Suki,” he greets her. She mirrors the gesture, nowhere near as bright, but, he reasons, it’s still early.

“Now, I was going to take a short stroll. When I come back, we can have some tea together downstairs.” It’s more a statement than a question, but she acquiesces readily, relieved she’ll have a moment to gather herself before they get to it. He claps his hands together, satisfied at her reply, and then Suki’s alone. She runs through her routine.

* * *

Iroh comes back when the sun has taken over the sky, sitting high and resplendent. Suki hears the door of the shop from upstairs, and she’s composed enough to face the day now, to be surrounded by strangers and tourists again. It’s a shock to see the whole place empty when she comes down, save for Iroh boiling water in a kettle and arranging a variety of cakes and buns on a tray.

“When are you opening today, Iroh?” she asks, guilty at her intrusion.

“I am not opening today. Tomorrow,” he chances a look at her, “maybe.” He waves her to the open table in the center of the shop. She hesitates for a moment before she goes to take a seat. He brings their breakfast over when the kettle whistles.

Her guilt deepens. “I couldn’t possibly let you—”

He waves her off. “Nonsense, nonsense,” reaching their table. He sits down before her and goes about readying their tea. “Anything for family.”

Suki flinches at the word. He quickly clarifies, apologetic. “Ah, forgive this old man. You are Zuko’s family, no? Anyone Zuko has chosen as his family is welcome here as my own.”

“It’s okay,” she insists, “really.” It’s not something she thinks of too often, _family_ , and when she does, thinking of herself as anyone’s family leaves her feeling unsettled and small, like dressing in clothing three sizes too big. Like the first time she dressed as a Kyoshi Warrior, armor, face paint, and all—the budding sensation of belonging and community wrapped in insecurity, realistic pessimism, and just plain fear. She shoots Iroh a smile, letting him know she’s not offended at his familiarity, more surprised than anything.

He exhales, relieved, and goes on serving her black tea. She notices he’s served himself something different, green tea from the smell of it, and it hits her again. Iroh knows how to make her tea how by heart, she always buys Sokka the wildest blends she can find at the market for when he visits, Zuko never hesitates to add three spoonful’s of sugar to Aang’s tea whenever he comes round even though Suki knows it absolutely kills him to ruin a good cup. All the unspoken ties between them; maybe Iroh wasn’t wrong, then.

They eat in the same comfortable silence as the night before, Iroh an attentive host, topping her up as the light from the outside crawls its way through the shop. It becomes clear to him she’s waiting for a directive like she was the night before. That went about well as a dragon in a tea shop, so he starts out simpler this time, asking, _what happened?_ and automatically it’s the right choice, Suki taking in the order and running through the events of the past few days.

With memory impeccable, precise in detail, and delivery straightforward as if practiced, she recounts the action like a lieutenant recounts a battle to her captain, and he understands _that_ engrained response all too well, thinking back to his days as a general of the Fire Nation. His time there was not without its consequences—not by a long shot—and maybe it’s his age catching up to him but he doesn’t remember being this young, having this much responsibility on his shoulders. His father expected much of him, but even then, in his own way, he offered Iroh encouragement in his ascendancy to the throne. In front of him, Suki speaks like someone with the confidence, certainty, and exhaustion of a commander once in charge of a city, once at the razor’s edge of the battle, now in charge of a leader of a nation. In front of him, Suki sits alone.

She methodically pulls apart the story and puts it back together. Iroh interjects from time to time with questions about the assailants—

_The earth bending style?_

_Not entirely traditional, more dynamic, combat-ready._

_Any accents or dialects?_

_No, neither spoke._

_What did their interrogation reveal?_

_There was no interrogation._

_Why?_

_They were neutralized before they could be interrogated._

_Cause of death, then?_

_The earth bender took a blade to the stomach. Died in the infirmary the morning of._

_And the other?_

_Blade to the inner thigh. Bled out, over the wall. Must’ve been a matter of minutes._

—until she’s gone through everything that happened up until Sokka’s arrival at the palace. He takes it in, though it’s not easy to hear of Zuko like this, and his anger grows over time to match hers, the precision of her storytelling giving way to fury over the failures and negligence that allowed anything like this to happen.

When she’s finished, they both take a breath, Suki sipping her tea gone cold while Iroh considers what he’s just been told. It’s a while before he speaks again.

He chooses his words deliberately. “What really happened?”

She looks straight at him, confused at the question. She just told him what happened. “I just told—”

“—Yes, I know. You have given me a thorough account of everything, I understand. But this has happened before, hasn’t it? We last spoke when Azula attempted to kidnap Zuko. You sent me a letter that time. And, you asked for my advice. Today, you are not asking for advice. You are here, in Ba Sing Se, having tea with me. Something is different.”

She can tell he’s trying hard to be gentle when he pauses, looking at her sadly, and asks, “So, what is it? What actually happened, Suki?”

The night before, when she couldn’t control herself and ended up crying for what felt like hours, Iroh graciously set their tea aside to hug her while she sobbed. She’s been in constant motion since she caught sight of her blade in Zuko’s shoulder, carrying him across the palace, waking the healers, checking in with Ty Lee, writing to Sokka, writing to Katara, writing to Toph, alerting the generals. When she did stop, it was for a moment, the healers forcing her to a bed to address her injuries. At that point, exhaustion took over, the adrenaline come down of having her worst fears realized a brutal punch in the gut. There’s a gap in her memories there, three or four hours, tops. And then that’s the last bit of uninterrupted sleep she’s had, as she wakes and promptly goes about ignoring the advice of the healers (and Ty Lee, and Ara, and… ) and dons her armor once more. The aftermath of the incident was almost worse than the thing itself, with the echo of Zuko’s panicked scream bouncing around and around and around in her head until she really does heave and Toph is running in to find her kneeling miserably on the floor. She’d almost rather deal with that a hundred times over than let herself utter the plain, simple reason for it all.

She’s grateful for the tea; it gives her something to hold on to, to focus on as she pushes through. She’s mumbling, she knows, but it’s hard to get the words out, “They only made one mistake.”

Iroh sits still, silent.

“They only made one mistake. At the beginning. It was just a thud—it wasn’t even that loud. I almost didn’t go in. And by the time we did—” She sets her cup down hastily, “—he was half way out of the palace. He was _screaming_. He was _hurt_ — _I_ _hurt him_ —” she’s tumbling through her words at this point, head in her hands, fingers pressed into her eyes, dark memories incongruous with the sunlight shining through the windows, “I _had_ to—He wasn’t—

“They only made _one_ mistake and if they hadn’t—He’d be… He’d…” She sits up, faces Iroh head on.

“I don’t know where he’d be.”

There’s nothing more to it, the rest what she feels made up of _what ifs_ that have lodged themselves deep in her skull, but she won’t give them power. Not right now, at least.

Iroh cracks, genteel demeanor gone. He grieves for her. “No matter how great or numerous, our past victories will never ensure our future ones,” he tells her softly. Suki laughs something thick and broken, tears spilling once again.

“Don’t I fucking know it.”

He doesn’t condemn the bitterness that seeps through her voice. On the contrary, he recognizes his own ache in it, his past flashing before his eyes. This pain—it’s not something wisdom can eradicate, only time. Even, then…

“We have been blessed to have survived all that we have, especially you young ones. More than this, we have been blessed to survive all that we have together. We can only hope that the strings that bind us to one another will strengthen as we grow older, because it is just as possible that they will fray over time, or will simply be cut without warning. This is why we cherish the moments we share together, the life we build while we are connected, while we are able.”

“I _know_ that, I do. But, it’s—“

He nods in understanding. “—Seeing just how tenuous that string is, how easily it bends and falls apart, for yourself, is a different thing, yes.”

“Yeah, it is.” 

* * *

“—since I was eight.” She laughs, “Spirits, I can’t even imagine doing anything else. I love what I do. And I’m good at it, too. Became commander when I was sixteen,” she says, jokingly cocky. Iroh raises his brows, nodding approvingly. Suki beams.

“It’s about people—helping people, wherever you can. Sometimes that means making sure some creep stops harassing the ladies that go to market every morning, sometimes that means shepherding refugees into Ba Sing Se.”

She shrugs. “Sometimes it means yelling at your nephew. We go where the work takes us.” Iroh laughs with her as he pours her another cup. They’ve moved on to rice wine now, and he’s been saving this bottle for a truly special occasion. He cannot think of anyone more deserving.

“It’s just… Harder now, I guess.” Suki picks at the flame of the lantern between them, twilight painting the shop in shadows of blue and purple black. “I love what I do, I mean that,” she reiterates, face turning serious again, “And I work hard not to lose myself in it, too. To make sure all of us do—that we remember there’s more to who we are than being a warrior. The whole thing falls apart if you’re just there to fight, anyway. Whatever your reasoning may be. Good or bad, if the only thing you bring to the table is a good right hook, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s an insult to the name.

She pauses, sinking into the helplessness she’s been fighting off, “When something like this happens, though… how do you not give in? How do you not— _Why_ would I stop myself from fully becoming something that saves others? Why _don’t_ I let any other part of myself go and do everything in my power to make sure that the people I love are safe?”

“Because it is not in your power,” Iroh replies. “There is nothing you can do more than what you are already doing, Suki.” They’ve been drinking for who knows how long, but Iroh manages to sound as sober and deliberate as he ever has. “The rest is not your burden to bear.” He desperately hopes she understands this.

Iroh lets the his remarks linger and fade, lets the lull in the conversation hang for some time. The veracity of what he tells her tastes like the wine in her cup: smooth, bitter, imperceptibly sweet. He has been so open with her, trading stories of Lu Ten and his time in the army for tales of Kyoshi and her own stories of the island. Not once has he rushed her, pushed her to any conclusions or forced her to speak. His confidence in her, supportive but firm, has her believing in it, too.

“If I may say, however,” and he stops there, like he’s waiting for permission to continue. She rolls her eyes, _of course you may. “_ My nephew was correct in relieving you of your post.”

“I never said he wasn’t.” Iroh smirks, brow raised. “What? I didn’t. It just would’ve been nice to have been asked, is all.” 

“Felt like he was dismissing me with the order,” she adds under her breath.

“I do not believe that was Zuko’s intention. But he can defend himself on this matter,” he waves the issue off. “For now, I believe I will be opening my shop tomorrow.” Suki cocks her head at the twinkle in his eyes as he speaks, “From what I have gathered, you are in need of a change of scenery, for some new experiences! I believe I may be of assistance.”

“Oh, really?” It sounds like he’s trying to get free labor out of her. She tells him so.

He shrugs, grinning, but doesn’t deny it. “You know, I like to believe the time Zuko spent working with me at this tea shop gave him a newfound respect for the many ways of service one can provide for someone else.” She snorts at the image of Zuko in an apron. “Plus, I have just perfected a new blend! Rooibos and rose—it is sure to be popular. I am going to need all the help I can get,” he sits back, leaving the suggestion in the air.

She grins back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter came about because i listened to angel olsen's endgame/chance on repeat for a full 24 hrs and lost it 
> 
> didn't mean to write a whole 3k about suki but i love her!! so here u go


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know too much about cannibal poetics not to write about it so uh
> 
> cw: cannibal poetics

“I have a dilemma.”

“I can tell.”

He promptly turns from the door to Izuru, mortified.

“Agni, can you really?”

Izuru can practically see his heart beating out of his chest from across the table. “…No?”

“ _Spirits_ ,” he cries out, placing his head in his hands. It’s been miserable in there, thoughts wavering from one extreme— _tell them, tell them now, ask what the fuck is going on, tell them everything_ —to the other— _ignore it, hope it passes, blame it on the moon or the wine or indigestion, that would work, right?_ He hates the latter, hates lying for too many reasons, and lying to Suki and Sokka feels too much like betrayal for him to truly consider it. But to risk their friendship for the sake of honesty, even imagining the aftermath of that conversation hurts more than Zuko can handle.

It’s hard to ignore the feeling, though. How lived in it is, like it made itself a home inside his chest years ago and refuses to be ignored any longer. He’s acutely aware of how ridiculous he sounds when he asks the question, but he can’t help himself.

“How did—” He stops, redirects. “You and Si, how’d you know that you loved him?”

The sage hums at Zuko’s question, not expecting him to get to it so quickly.

“How do you mean?” they ask carefully.

Izuru’s sympathetic gaze makes him feel like a child, like his mother’s here sitting in front of him about to chastise his table manners. Zuko’s first instinct is to be defensive, to repeat what he’s just said, but there’s a warmth to Izuru’s tone and he realizes they’re not being facetious. 

“Loving someone and being in love with them, they’re different things.”

“Are they?”

“Aren’t they?”

Izuru thinks a bit. “Weren’t you together with Mai for some time?”

“Yeah, for a while.”

“Well, did you love her?”

“Of course, I did,” he responds, instantly defensive. Izuru waves their arms up in surrender.

“Alright, alright,” they chuckle at Zuko’s reaction, “Were you in love with her?”

“I…” he thinks back to his time with Mai back at the palace and under his father’s rule. He was so desperate to please him, his quest for Ozai’s approval almost as heavy as the weight of the war on his shoulders. Amidst his mounting obligations and worsening temper, Mai was there, wanting nothing from him but his company. He wanted so much to make her happy in return—It’s not a state of mind Zuko enjoys parsing through, but he’s pretty sure that whatever it was, he wasn’t in love.

“I… I wasn’t really myself, then,” he explains for Izuru, and for himself. “But I don’t think so. At least, that didn’t feel like this.”

“And, what is this, exactly?”

“Like—” _Miserable, awful, second guessing everything I’ve ever said and done._ He makes a strangled noise, throwing his head onto the table. Izuru chuckles again.

“Zuko, I think you are overthinking this.”

Izuru only hears a _hmph_ in return, muffled underneath the thick fabric of his sleeves cradling his head. Zuko’s not overthinking this. There is no overthinking this, not when whatever good will he’s managed to scrounge up from his friends will surely be thrown out the window the moment he tells them the truth.

“How much would you say you know about cannibalism?”

Zuko immediately stills. He slowly lifts his head up, carefully looking up at the sage over his arms.

“Um.” He knows what it is. He doesn’t see why anyone should know more than that. “A… normal amount?”

Izuru’s no longer paying attention to Zuko, gaze off into the distance. “You know, cannibalism has been around for centuries. That’s what Si studies, among other things.” They hold their chin in their hand, stroking their beard like they’re lost in their own memories. “Endlessly fascinating, it is.”

“I thought he studied poetry?”

Izuru nods. “He does.” Zuko’s trying not to give into confusion, but it’s a losing battle. “Patience, Zuko, I’m getting to that part,” they explain, as if reading his mind.

“Meditate on how you are feeling. Picture them in your mind, whoever it is you’re thinking about.” The sage waits for Zuko to sit up and close his eyes. “How do you react when you’re around them? Do you desire to be closer to them? Does it feel like you can never get close enough? Do you feel insatiable?”

He follows Izuru as long as he’s able, but he can’t shake off the feeling—

He opens his eyes, face twisting into worry. “But that’s just greed,” he argues, volume rising. “That’s just _power_. Taking over someone else because you can. Because what you want is more important to you than anything or anyone else.”

“That’s one way of interpreting it, yes,” Izuru replies diplomatically. “Certainly, the act of eating another can function as vengeance or dominion. But think about it this way.”

The sage leans in, like they’re sharing a secret with no one else but Zuko. They pick up one of the cape sleeves of their sage robes and stretch out the piece of fabric over the table. “To consume someone else necessitates you to surrender yourself.” With their free hand, they pick up their tea, spilling the liquid onto the burgundy silk. The stain starts out small, droplets almost imperceptible against the dark red, but it grows as they steadily empty the cup, until the whole sleeve looks damp to the touch.

“See, the cloth ingests the tea; there is none left in my cup. But the cloth is not unchanged, is it? The tea weaves through the fabric, spreading and seeping into the fibers. It stains, too, and if I wait too long to clean this robe my sleeve will forever bear the stain of this tea.”

Izuru sits upright once more while Zuko continues to examine the darkening fabric. “Whoever is eaten is forever changed by the experience, no doubt. But you will never be the same, either. A part of you will always be stained by what you have done, by whom you have become. The act of devouring another will seep into the deepest parts of you, as you are fueled by whom you have consumed. Whom you have eaten will become you and you will become them until you reach a perfect union, bound together by one body.”

When they’re finished, Izuru takes in Zuko’s stillness, furrowed brow unmoving. They sigh, almost discouraged.

“Zuko, I am not suggesting you go out and try cannibalism for yourself. In fact, I would prefer you refrain from eating others,” they say. The joke lands, breaking Zuko’s reverie as he lets out a small laugh. Izuru smiles.

“You know poets, always with the dramatics and the imagery and whatnot.” Zuko certainly does _not_ , but maybe that’s for the best. “I don’t know what you are feeling. And I am not sure about the distinction you made earlier, either. A proposition here or there changes nothing.

“But,” they pause, wait for Zuko’s eyes to meet their own, “I am certain that there are whole hosts of things we shy away from because they make our lives complicated, or because we are unable to control them. The feelings worth experiencing are usually like this, and if we are to truly let ourselves experience them, we must wholly surrender ourselves. We must be open—uncovered, completely, without reservation. Love does not mix well with cowardice. You cannot, you _must_ not hide.

“Remember this, Zuko, for if we do not eat, we die.”

* * *

There’s a mess of people about when the ship comes to port, red ensign of the Fire Nation riding high on the stern. The dockworkers get to securing the ship as it inches closer, readying their mooring lines, shouting orders left and right. It’s an excruciatingly slow process for someone as impatient as Sokka, and as soon as the metal walkway’s been laid down, he separates from the welcoming committee of politicians standing at the edge of the shore.

The Kyoshi Warriors are the first to walk through the bridge. Suki's in front, talking with some of the crew as she steps onto the dock. There’s a figure running up to the ship, shouting “Suki! Suki! Over here!” drawing out the vowels of her name as he waves his arms to draw attention to himself. _Agni_ , she thinks, _he’s always so eager_. She mourns on behalf of whatever serious diplomat the people of River Village were expecting when Zuko announced one of his ambassadors would be joining their talks.

Suki motions for Ara to take over and beelines for Sokka, mocking him with eyes wide and arms waving all over, shouting exaggeratedly, “Sokka! Sokkaaaaa!” until he pulls her in close and lifts her off her feet. Her delighted scream is a welcome sound, and he nearly loses his footing as they twirl, caught up in its ringing round his ears.

This is how Zuko catches them—wrapped up in one another, a lingering kiss that lasts a beat too long for daylight. There’s an impossibly blue sky behind them, and he could swear they look like a painting, the dénouement of one of the plays he reads and rereads a hundred times over. He doesn’t want to interrupt their reunion so he searches for something or someone to busy himself with instead. He finds the captain in the fray, makes to thank him when he hears a stern “Hey! Where d’you think you’re going?” from their direction and suddenly Sokka’s calling to him, hands cupped around his mouth, Suki grinning beside him.

The scene they must make, it’s not becoming of them. He’s the Fire Lord for Agni’s sake, but when he nearly trips into Sokka’s chest as he pulls him into a crushing hug, it’s a lie to say he minds. When they come apart, Sokka stands close, hand on Zuko’s shoulder. It’s the first time he’s seen Sokka since he left Caldera City months ago, and it’s hard not to catalogue all the differences between that Sokka and the one before him. He’s taller than Zuko now, a couple of centimeters that have Zuko angling his neck to look up at him, instantly throwing him for a loop. Freckles line the bridge of his cheeks, almost imperceptible against his dark tan from all the time he’s spent in the desert— _sun-kissed_ , his mind chimes in—and he’s got an undercut again, hair shaved close to his head save for his wolftail. It’s only a haircut but it’s what strikes Zuko the most. What a difference a couple months make.

When Sokka looks at Zuko standing beside him it’s almost as if he’s losing his footing again, some kind of warmth running through him, rushing like electricity from his heart all the way to his fingertips. He feels fit to burst.

He’s grinning, smile visible across the river, Zuko’s sure of it.

“Missed you, hotman.”

* * *

“You’re a real dick, you know that?” He directs the question to Zuko, sitting on the balcony of his room, in lieu of a greeting. Over the railing, the village is shrouded in darkness, a spare lamp here and there illuminating a bedroom or a street. The river sloshes away in the distance, a blue-black that hums in Sokka’s ears.

It’s been a crummy day all around, discussions about revamping the port getting off to a rough start. Zuko’s there as a representative of a variety of Fire Nation industries that would benefit from the port’s expansion. Sokka’s there because Zuko told him about the meetings and he mentioned the good rapport he has with the swamp benders up the river and his familiarity with the local geography and Zuko always welcomes his advice.

Ostensibly, they’re both there as figureheads on the sidelines guiding the discussion between the locals, the swamp benders, and the businessmen along, if needed. Ostensibly, because they hadn’t reached the mid-afternoon mark without commandeering the whole thing, shouting at one another—Sokka arguing about protecting ecological diversity, Zuko countering with talk of trade routes and revenues that made Sokka want to rip his hair out.

“Didn’t think that would come as a surprise to you anymore,” Zuko replies sharply, not bothering to turn around to face him.

Sokka punches him on the shoulder as he sits down on his right, legs hanging over the edge of the railing. Zuko reels at the hit, “ _The fuck’s that for?_!” and it’s Sokka’s turn to shrug.

“Don’t be a self-deprecating asshole when I’m angry at you,” he says sternly, “It’s not fair.”

Zuko grumbles under his breath in response but Sokka doesn’t hear it, choosing to stick his tongue out and blow a big raspberry at him since he wants to act like a petulant child. Zuko hates him.

Sokka shoves at him playfully until Zuko returns his smile. He doesn't wait long. “You’ve been like this all day. What’s going on, man?”

It’s not like they hadn’t discussed the proposals beforehand. Sokka’s been writing his eyes off about the ecological implications of dredging up dirt and adding docks and other things that Zuko tries his best to understand. He gets lost sometimes in the jargon of it all, but Zuko just takes to reading his letters with a dictionary by his side to manage. It’s not even that he disagrees with him, anyway; he’s loathe to ruin more of the Earth Kingdom than his nation already has.

And yet. Sitting across the table from Sokka, Zuko’d been turning over and over the nagging question of his haircut all day, asking himself why Sokka would keep it from him, judging himself for overreacting, vowing to reread the books in his study on Water Tribe customs because he remembers one of them mentioning traditional hair styles. He wishes they’d met up in different circumstances, wishes he could just to talk to Sokka without foreign dignitaries between them. Foreign dignitaries and Zesen, the business man glaring at Zuko expectantly every time Sokka would counter one of his recommendations, like it was his fault their talks were going nowhere. It’s entirely possible Zuko lost his cool earlier.

“Ugh,” he answers, eloquent as ever. He leans over to rest his head on Sokka’s shoulder. Sokka snorts at his dramatics, but he doesn’t mind, shifting to lean on his other arm to support the both of them.

“I don’t know. Zesen kept looking at me, like he didn’t know why I was there if I wasn’t going to defend him.”

Sokka frowns. “You don’t need to please him. Going against them isn’t going against the Fire Nation.”

“I know, I know. It was just easier, in the moment. I’ll speak with them tomorrow, set them straight.” He runs his hands over his face, wincing at his own lack of resolve. “Sorry for getting in your face.”

He half expects the other boy to draw it out, make him apologize on the record, but he just shrugs again, this time jostling Zuko's head in the process.

Sokka’s got a month of correspondence to tell him whatever was going on today won’t happen again tomorrow. “Ah, it’s alright," he ruffles Zuko’s hair, no longer tied up but let down, waves a mess in the humidity of the coastal town. "I forgive you.”

The movement leaves Zuko with half a head of hair covering his eyes, the lamps on the bannister flickering violently before Zuko can catch himself. Sokka slips his hand down absentmindedly, running his fingers through the strands and untangling the stray knots that brush against Zuko’s back. They settle into the moment, Zuko matching his breaths to Sokka’s gentle ministrations.

“Hey, tell me what it’s been like at the palace,” Sokka blurts out, all rushed like he’s embarrassed to ask.

Zuko quirks an eyebrow at him, turning awkwardly to look up from his shoulder. “Why? You already know what’s going on, probably double from me and Suki.”

“Yeah, but it’s different, reading your letters and talking to you in person.”

“You can always come back.” He wants to take the bait, make a joke about his letter-writing skills, but it’s a sore subject. Zuko stopped asking when Sokka kept brushing him off with a _maybe_ or _I’ll think about it_. He understood it at first, why he’d have reservations about coming back, but it’s been months now.

“Literally whenever you want, Sokka, the door is always open.”

Sokka’s voice hardens. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes it is. It really is that simple,” he insists, and he’s not angry, but he is pissed. Sokka’s keeping something from him and this is a stupid argument to keep having because of whatever it is, especially when the answer’s right there, staring them in the face. “Instead of fucking around in the desert you could come and see Suki and see me and it _would_ be that easy.”

“The last time I was there—”

Zuko rolls his eyes. “The last time you were there, it was a literal shitshow, yes, I remember. But, seeing as how I almost died the week before, I’m giving us all a pass on that one.”

“And what if I haven’t, ‘given myself a pass’ on that one?”

“Tough turtleducks, Sokka, you’re not the Fire Lord.”

He laughs at that, but it’s sad, like he doesn’t seem convinced. At this point, Zuko sits up and tries to make sense of him as he avoids his gaze.

“Is that why you haven’t come back? Cause of what I said? What Suki said?” He speaks low, almost like a whisper between them. “We didn’t mean it, c’mon, you know that.”

He doesn’t answer, eyes downcast at his lap, hands empty now that Zuko’s moved away.

It tugs at something inside of Zuko to see him like this, _because_ of Zuko, no less. “Sokka… ”

“It’s just hard to be there,” Sokka starts out slow, dejected. “To think about how I wasn’t there. How there’s nothing I can do if something were to happen again. There’s so much we still have to do, like this—” he gestures at the both of them, the village below them, “—getting this set up, and then making sure routes are open to the Water Tribes, and—” Zuko can practically see Sokka’s to do list of places to be and people to meet, an imaginary scroll a hundred lines long, all in alphabetical order. “—I can’t do that and be there and not be there…” He shakes his head to himself. He resets.

“Even then. I was a dick the whole time—no, don’t, I was—I was out of control—”

“Sokka, no—”

He cuts him off, serious. Zuko doesn’t know what he’s talking about. It’s not up for discussion.

“—You weren’t with it when I got there. You were basically out of it for those first couple of weeks, anyway. Your—you’d have these nightmares and I’d just be sitting there and. I couldn’t think straight for days. I barely slept. I was paranoid, I couldn’t calm down when you’d leave the room and I took it out on everyone else,” he scoffs at himself, disgusted, as if reliving the memory. “You heard what Toph said. I scared all the attendants away, I almost got my ass handed to me before Suki stepped in and with Katara—S _pirits_ , Zuko, there was a moment where I thought, _my own sister’s gonna have to fight me cause there’s no chance I’m letting her near you_. And, like, _obviously_ , I trust Katara with my life, but I just—It was like when you told us about your dad all—”

Zuko sighs, _of all the things_ , “—I’ve told you, that wasn’t your fault—”

“—It _was_ my fault. Look, Zuko.” He stops before he continues, sober and determined. “I’m glad you forgave me. For your dad. And this, too. But, I was still out of line. The way I behaved—all aggro like that… It’s not me. I don’t like feeling like that; it doesn’t help anyone and it only makes matters worse. I don’t want to go back and be that person again.”

And if there’s anyone in the four nations who knows full well what it’s like to try to force a situation into your control, to hurt others in the process, to lash out when you inevitably fail, it’s Zuko. He wants Sokka to know that he gets it, really, that he can help him, be a shoulder to lean on, if he just lets him in. Sokka senses Zuko’s about to say something and raises his hand up to stop him.

“I don’t want to keep making the same mistakes, y’know? I just need some time. To get a handle on myself.”

(There’s also the growing feeling that with each subsequent visit to the palace, it becomes harder and harder to leave. Sokka doesn’t mention that though, files it away next to all the other thoughts that keep him awake at night when he’s in another town, far, far away from the people he loves most.)

 _Spirits_ , he sounds so sad. He chuckles at himself, Zuko thankfully waiting quietly in case he has anything more to say. Sokka shoots him a smile, hopes that he won’t hate him for what he’s asking.

It hurts that the best thing Zuko can do for him at the moment is let him be and give him space. He returns the smile, because when has he ever not.

“Take all the time you need,” he nods in understanding, voice soft after Sokka’s passionate explanations. Sokka wipes the sweat gathering at his brow—heartfelt confessions and humid weather don’t mix well, apparently—as Zuko continues, picking up steam.

“Take all the time you need. But don’t stay away because you’ve convinced yourself that we don’t want you around, yeah?”

He pauses, takes a breath. “And… you can always talk to me. Or Uncle. I mean—I’m sure you can talk to your dad or Katara, or whomever you want, actually, you’re your own man,” he talking in circles now, he can tell, “but I mean. Uncle has a lot of experience dealing with someone, uh. Out of control. So do I, if you ever, uh, want my advice. I can’t promise I’ll help, but—"

It’s all Sokka can do to reach for him again and pull him in for hug, awkward because they’re both seated facing the village, but they make it work. Zuko smells clean like sandalwood and jasmine, and his embrace is ever more tender than Sokka deserves. He’s dressed in his sleep clothes, ready for bed, and it’s only then that Sokka remembers how he’s still in his clothes from before, dirt and grime of the day sticking to him, now sticking to Zuko. He lets him go, apologetic look on his face. Zuko looks back, slightly flushed but pensive, as if debating something in his mind. 

“I mean it,” he says solemnly. “You’re always welcome. We miss you. Um,” he keeps going, words feeling weighty and foreign on his tongue, “I—I miss you.”

It comes out more like a question than a statement. Sokka snorts. “Are you asking or tell me?”

They’re all so quick and free with their emotions, it’s not fair; Zuko can only do his best to catch up.

“Shut up, I’m trying to be honest with you,” he pouts, and Sokka giggles, well and truly giggles at him.

“I know, I know,” Sokka says, easy. “I wasn’t lying before, either. ‘ve missed you, hotman.” Zuko glares.

He stands to leave Sokka alone, huffing as he does because he’s friends with an idiot, but then Sokka’s holding him back, delivering a litany of _no, no, no, don’t go,_ _hotman, don’t go,_ as he maneuvers the both of them back to how they were sitting before, Zuko’s head on his shoulder, his hand running through his hair. He pets Zuko on the head when he stops protesting and fidgeting about, but he stops when he swears he sees sparks coming out of Zuko’s nose.

Sokka takes a good look at the boy on his shoulder, letting his eyes wander as Zuko cools off. He wants to remember him like this, illuminated by the lamplight, silk of his robes smooth underneath his fingertips, heat almost tactile between them.

He starts babbling. “You look good. Better. Hair’s longer. Makes your headpiece look more menacing.”

“Glad to know I look better than when I was on my deathbed. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he grins back.

Sokka should go, they both should; it’s late and they’ve got a full day tomorrow, but he doesn’t want the night to end, wants to be in Zuko’s company for a moment longer.

“The chef’s new apprentice’s got a thing for Mai,” Zuko starts out of nowhere. Sokka’s lost until he catches on to what he’s doing, _tell me what it’s been like at the palace_ , and he lets out an exhale, listening as Zuko goes on.

“Ty Lee’s not a fan of the guy, you should see her…”

* * *

When he heads back to his room, he can tell he’s only got a few hours before sunup. He tries not to wake Suki, to be stealthy, be like a tiger shark, but she stirs anyway, turning to face him as he shuffles under the covers.

“Did you tell him?” she mumbles as she wraps an arm around his chest, eyes fluttering open.

Sokka traffics in half-truths now, so it doesn’t hurt much to whisper, “Yeah, I did. Thanks, y’know, for the nudge.”

She gives him a quick peck in response, burrowing herself in the crook of his neck. He can feel her breath on him, warm and steady as it slows.

“’s nothing. He deserved to know,” she says, already falling back asleep. He does his best to follow.

* * *

Zuko can’t sleep. Hasn’t slept a whole night through for weeks now. He’s tired during the day, but after sundown his exhaustion converts into restlessness without warning. The nights he doesn’t care to struggle, he reads or writes or takes a stab at the work that keeps piling up on his desk; he might as well be productive while he can, he figures. There’s a plethora of materials to go through, business to address, what with his new generals, and the new safety protocols. That, and the small matter of running an entire nation.

When he does sleep, he’s awoken by nightmares of one of the several attempts on his life. He’s never hated having a personal guard more than he does now, as whenever he wakes from a nightmare he’s scared twice over as stark, painted faces hover over him in an effort to calm him down, remind him it’s just a dream. Zuko’s convinced Ty Lee’s ready to murder him, along with the rest of them, with how much of a pain he’s been.

And Suki—well, he hasn’t been met with Suki’s stark, painted face yet. He’s not sure if he’s grateful she’s not seen him like this, or if he’s discouraged that she hasn’t felt up to the task. It’s been going well between them since she got back from Ba Sing Se with his uncle. Well, but not great, so he doesn’t want to ruin the progress they’ve made by bringing it up before she does. _Patience_ , his uncle would chide.

He’s reading at his desk, lamplight as steady as he can maintain it, as he goes over the fine print of the book in his hand with his magnifying glass. He can practically hear Katara chastising him over straining his eyes this late, but there’s no one in the room to stop him. The text has something to do with fleet strength but he honestly couldn’t care less at this point, mind racing with thinking about Katara and Aang and the rest of them and how much he wishes they were there with him.

His back aches with pouring over the same book for hours and he gives up, feeble attempt at getting work done tonight going out the window. Clearly, it’s not going happen, and he’s not any more tired after his efforts, so he might as well go and stretch his legs. He stands slowly, groaning and stretching his joints as he does. He’ll go have some tea, come back and meditate for a bit, and hopefully then, he’ll be tired enough to go to bed.

He picks his robe, a flowing garment that reaches the floor, off the back of his chair and heads toward the door. It opens before him as he reaches towards it. Suki’s on the other side, a commanding presence as always, eyes menacing against the black and red, golden armor gleaming.

He mouths a small “ _oh_ ” at the sight. She doesn’t respond, hand still on the doorframe.

He must look a prize, the bags under his right eye a permanent fixture now, hair frenzied and oily with how often he wrings his hands through it. Not to mention he’s actually convinced his scar’s looking worse now, also suffering the effects of his insomnia. He feels like he has to explain himself.

“I was just…” he motions awkwardly in the direction of the kitchen, “Tea.”

She stays silent, but there’s a hint of a smile on her face.

“I mean,” he corrects, “I was just getting some tea.”

They’ve spoken here and there, cleared the air as soon as she arrived, but it’s still a shock to his system to see her in front of his door. It’s like he has to remember how to speak to her all over again. He vaguely recalls putting his foot in his mouth when they met up at Boiling Rock; _Agni_ , he hopes to every spirit listening that he can do better than that now.

Suki’s waiting for him to go, but Zuko just stands at the edge of his room, unmoving in front of the door, eyes darting from her to the end of the hall and back. The knot of his robe is slipping, and the velour slides slowly down his shoulder.

“Would you,” she starts unsure, “would you like some company?”

It takes him by surprise, Zuko stilling for a moment before he lets out an exhale, tension leaving his body.

“Yeah?”

* * *

Zuko doesn’t stay overhear much of their conversation, but he gets the gist, regardless.

They’d been playing a game of chicken all dinner: Sokka looking over at Suki, concern obvious on his face; Suki glancing over at Zuko every other minute, trying to will his attention, making sure he wasn’t truly angry or worse, _hurt_ ; Zuko looking between the two of them, calculating the odds of bringing up one of the hundred fluorescent, giant elephants in the room. Cowardice is partly to blame for his decision to keep silent, Izuru would be disappointed to learn, but more than cowardice is Zuko’s not entirely sure what’d come out if he did speak: _What are we doing? I think I’m— Is it just me? What, and I cannot stress this enough, the fuck is going on._

He leaves them be after they eat, a quiet affair that earns him a glare from Mai, and its only then that he realizes she’d been there the whole time. It’s not fair for her to assume whatever’s going on is Zuko’s fault, but he’s too wound up to give her an answer so he lets her walk away towards the gardens while he silently mopes on to his room.

Zuko’s done everything he can think of to make the palace a more welcoming place. There’s nothing to do about the color scheme—red on red on black on some more red— but he’s tried, at least, with the help of designers and architects and Ty Lee, who was just bursting at the seams with opinions on how to renovate the place. Under cover of night, though, it still resembles the palace of his youth, with its long hallways foreboding, its corners hiding threats. Even Zuko feels the same, wandering about searching for a solution to the problems he’s too scared to name out loud.

He heads back to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea after he tosses and turns in his bed, unable to fall sleep. That’s how he catches them, both clearly trying to keep their voices down, but in reality nearly shouting instead. He stops dead in his tracks at the edge of the doorway, careful not to let his shadow give him away.

Suki’s speaking fast, pleading. “—It just happened, we were talking, it was late and I just—in the moment of—” Sokka sounds furious, doesn’t wait for her to finish.

“—You understand this changes everything, right? After I _specifically_ asked you—"

“—It wasn’t on purpose!” she yells, and then the fight leaves her, voice thick with tears. “I swear, I’d—I’d never do anything to hurt you, Sokka, c’mon—”

There’s a rustle of clothing, the scrape of a chair. Zuko has to strain to hear them over the sounds, the two finally settling into whispers.

“—him, y’know?”

Sokka’s reply is a soft, “Yeah, I know,” before he can hear them share a brief kiss. One of them sighs.

“We’ll have to talk to him, sooner or later. It’s not fair to keep him in the dark.”

Suki utters something indecipherable in return and Zuko can picture her on his lap, nestling into his chest, arm wrapped around waist or fingers running through her hair. This isn’t meant for him, he wasn’t meant to hear this, see them—any of it.

It’s ridiculous of him consider, even for a second, that he’s part of this, that he belongs. There’s a stinging sensation in his eyes and a growing pain in the back of his throat that burns in swells as he walks away, forgoing his room, heading for the keep or the gardens or _who cares_ as long it’s far enough away from here.

The warriors stationed at his door follow him, calling out in question but he fires off a burst of flames in the space that separates them, a warning shot, growling, “ _Don’t_ ,” before he turns the corner, alone. It’s the kind of thing Suki’d never let him get away with, he thinks bitterly, but it’s not like she’s there to catch him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "if we do not eat, we die" lifted from sherod santos' divine hunger // most of this ch inspired by d'angelo's really love especially them talking at river village i like to think sokka's a big r&b fan and zuko says he isn't but he 100% becomes a snob that only likes rEaL r&b 
> 
> sorry for the delay and for the extra long chapter... i wanted to keep the scenes together but if u prefer shorter chapters let me know!! 
> 
> as always any kudos/comments appreciated!!!! :)))


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> been a bit of a busy week so i give u
> 
> ot3: a montage

Their midnight tea becomes a habit.

That first night, though, they step into the kitchen. Zuko heads for the wood-burning stove, lighting the sconces on the way, keeping the flames low so as not to overwhelm them with light. Suki stops him, a soft but firm hand on his shoulder, and points to the table across the room. 

“Sit.”

He goes to sit.

“Wait.” She stops him in his tracks. “Light the stove for me, please?” He does, and she turns back around.

Zuko watches her sat on the floor, silent as she fills the kettle with water, places it on the left burner. It’s a big space, the kitchen—the palace architects giving into his demands to build a private kitchen in the residence only if he allowed them to build a room fit for a leader of the four nations. Their choice appliances gleam even in the low light, the black lacquered metal of the stove and the icebox a spotless to the flames thanks to the staff. He’s told them his kitchen doesn’t fall under their responsibilities—he’s learned how to keep it clean thanks to his uncle, and it’s not like he makes use of it all too much—but they insist. 

He remembers the first time his uncle had visited, right after the builders had finished the renovations, wry smile on his face as he took it in. It was only months later after a trip to Ba Sing Se that Zuko realized he’d built the palace equivalent of that first little apartment he’d shared with his uncle.

His mind wanders without direction. Suki stays standing, waiting for the kettle to boil. She leans over the counter when it starts whistling, reaching for a pair of drinking cups and bowls, grabbing at the tea tins on the lowest shelf on the wall; the fans clang against the metal of the stove like little bells tied at her hip. He can almost imagine the scene before him, washed away of all the particulars: no Fire Lord, no elite warriors, just the two of them, enjoying a cup of tea after a long day.

“—Hello?” Suki waves to grab his attention. Zuko lets the daydream vanish before him. 

“Sorry,” he replies sheepishly scratching his head. She rolls her eyes.

“I was just asking—jasmine, right?”

“Oh. Yeah, jasmine is fine. Thanks.” 

He undoes and redoes the knot of his robe, the thing barely staying in place as it bunches in his lap. When she reaches the table, tray, kettle, and all, he extinguishes the stove and lets the lamps on the far side of the room dim, too, no need for them when they’re sitting right in front of each other. She goes about readying their cups, the flick of her wrist as she rinses them out and dumps the water instantly familiar. He chuckles to himself. 

“Uncle taught you well, then, did he?”

She lets out a laugh, the moves coming naturally to her after her time at the shop. 

“Yeah,” she says as she spoons the loose tea into his bowl, “even made me employee of the month.”

He quickly does the math in his head. “You weren’t even there for a full month!”

“Hey, when you’ve got it, you’ve got it.”

He scowls when she offers up his tea with a wink. “Uncle never made me employee of the month,” he grumbles as he takes a sip. 

The jasmine in his hand tastes like the tea his uncle makes him, the tea his mother used to make him, and something new entirely all at once; somewhere in the back of his head he’s already sure no other tea will ever hold a candle to hers.He chokes a bit, lost in the thought, sputtering hot tea everywhere.

Suki’s looking up at him when he comes to, cataloging his reaction while she sits with her shoulders hunched around the warm cup in her hand.

“’s good,” he tells her honestly. She nods and finally takes a sip of her own. Though it’s faint, he can smell vanilla from where he’s sitting, the scent coming as a surprise until he thinks about it and, _no, actually, it suits her_.

She smiles at him. “Good.”

* * *

Zuko and Suki leave River Village; Sokka stays in the Foggy Swamp. Tho teaches him how to set traps, how to hide them amongst the vines and the thick underbrush of the banyan-groves.

* * *

The weeks pass and it gets easier for him to sleep, the memory of the most recent attempt on his life fading into the background, more and more resembling a story he’d tell on a stage than something that actually happened to him.

He sleeps through the night now, but when Suki completes her rotation and is back at his door, he can’t help it. Most of the time, it’s automatic: wordlessly, they walk into the kitchen, Zuko lights the lamps and the stove, Suki puts the kettle on, she sits, he dims the lights. Some nights, though, Zuko takes the reins, feeling guilty that she’s making him tea while she’s already busy guarding his life. His brews are nowhere near as good as hers, but she appreciates the gesture nonetheless.

* * *

Sokka sleeps in a raised bed made of moss and a hefty layer of leaves held together and aloft by the vines of the swamp. One night, he dreams not in the swamp, but outside the palace, a floating bird’s eye view, backlit. Before him, the great windows of the residence, and inside, Zuko, alight in silver, steaming tea cupped in his hands. He hears the ringing of Suki’s laugh, like windchimes. He feels warm, tired, calm.

* * *

Zuko takes his tea plain, but on a night he’s tossed and turned for hours, he stands as Suki settles down at the table. She’s about to ask if there’s anything wrong when he comes back, but he preempts her question with his answer.

“Sometimes, when we wouldn’t go to bed, Ursa would make us tea. If Ozai wasn’t around, anyway,” he explains. “She used to add a little bit of honey, said it would help us fall asleep faster. I dunno if that’s true,” he laughs quietly at the memory of him and Azula running around his mother’s room until they’d tired themselves out, “but it works. Sometimes.”

Suki makes a small noise, but otherwise stays silent. The moment passes languidly by. She places her cup down, runs her fingers down where the bottom touches the table.

“Tell me about her,” she says softly. “Ursa.” 

He does. 

* * *

Sokka heads east. He rests once he reaches the Chuje Islands. He scopes the area—writes about the locals, industry, the terrain and the weather in his journal. Maybe Hakoda will find the observations useful, maybe he won’t.

He doesn’t do much while he’s there, an unwelcome lull in the breakneck pace he likes to keep. It serves him right; he’s only there as an excuse, taking the long way home.

* * *

“What about you, your parents?”

“I don’t remember them much, not really.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry for asking, it was insensitive—only, I’ve never heard you talk about them—”

“Zuko, it’s fine. It’s okay. Honest.”

“I don’t know, I never met them. I don’t remember much before I joined the Kyoshi Warriors, for better or worse.”

“Have you—do you have any other family, aside from the warriors, I mean?”

“Well, I’d like to think I’m looking right at him.”

* * *

Aang and Katara surprise him at the South Pole, Appa greeting him with a great, big lick that Katara dries off for him only after he’s asked about a dozen times. Momo promptly flies atop the crown of his head and stays there all day, hopping off when Hakoda serves the lot of them dinner.

Aang takes over their conversation, won’t shut up, now that Sokka’s here they can go say hi to the otter penguins. Katara agrees to go penguin sledding first thing tomorrow morning when Bato muses the penguins might not be so happy to see him now that he’s nearly two meters tall. Aang just stops, spoon full of sea prune soup suspended in midair, puppy dog eyes looking straight at him like he’s declared all the otter penguins extinct.

“You really think so?” he asks, heartbreak evident.

Katara glowers, Hakoda, too, identical to his daughter. Sokka turns between the three of them amused, but when he catches Bato’s sheepish gaze, he takes pity on the man, motions at him,  _ I got this_.

“Nah, those otter penguins eat well enough. I’m sure they’ll be fine,” he says around a mouthful of sea prunes. “How could they forget you, airboy.”

Bato makes up for his blunder later, suggesting they make a day of it, together as a family. Sokka worries Aang’s smile might melt the permafrost.

* * *

The five of them wake early the following morning. It’s a bit of a mindfuck to go to bed when the sun’s still out and to wake up when the sun’s still out and Sokka doesn’t sleep as much as he would’ve hoped, but he chalks it up to Aang’s infectious excitement.

He borrows one of his dad’s hooded coats, the one he left here all those months ago now too short, white fur not even covering his bits. It’s a heavy thing, polar leopard fur coming down in a V-shape at his thighs, wrapping around and obscuring his neck. There’s some intricate stitching at the cuffs, geometric patterns in white and navy thread connecting the blue leather to the white fur. He’s not convinced he can pull it off, not to mention he feels like a pretender, taking his dad’s, the  head chieftain’s , clothes as his own. But he’s been far from home for a while now, and he’s not as used to the cold as he once was; he’d rather not get frostbite on his first day home, if possible.

Sokka steps out of his room and heads straight to the kitchen where Bato stands, packing food to take with them, too busy to notice what Sokka’s wearing and whatever his hang-ups about it. He helps with packing seaweed chips and seal jerky, kale cookies for Aang, and throws in any other thing that catches his eye. Bato insists on some freeze-dried cucumberquats,  _ just in case_, and Sokka would like to poke fun at him for his cautiousness, but he’s right,  _ you never know_.

Katara and his dad are tying up a couple of sleds for the lot of them in case the penguins really don’t want anything to do with Aang, while Aang, on the other hand, is busy sitting in the center of the living area, talking with Momo in hushed, sympathetic tones.

“—what happened the last time, so I think it’s best if you sit this one out, buddy.” Momo chatters indignantly at that when Aang sighs, like he’s heard his defense before.

“I know, I know, you were provoked. But still, just to be safe and make sure everyone has a good time, why don’t you stay here and we can do something together when we get back!” 

He looks at Momo hopefully; he doesn’t answer back. “I’m sure Appa would love the company,” he tries again. Momo doesn’t justify that with response, swinging his tail in Aang’s face instead and pointedly flying away to the opposite side of the room. 

They make their way out to the ice, chatting quietly for the most part. The early hour and cold breeds stillness and calm, though several of the merchants stop them along the way, astounded at how much Katara’s grown, how much Sokka resembles his father. It’s embarrassing, and the both of them blush respectively, while Hakoda and Bato beam at the compliments. Hakoda doesn’t take having both of his children home for granted, so what if he wants to show them off for the whole village to see.

The city center it barely registers on the horizon when they clear the last snow mound and are met with an entire plateau of otter penguins. Families gather in clusters, barking playfully at one another, running and sliding around everywhere. Hakoda remarks on a healthy hatching season and other things Sokka doesn’t listen to while Aang vibrates beside him, shooting a quick question toward Katara and Sokka and with a nod, the three of them leg it, Aang on his air scooter hollering at all the penguins in a ten meter radius.

It turns out they do remember Aang, the older penguins instantly crowding around him and vying for his attention, the baby penguins just following along. They could care less about Aang’s dramatic growth spurt, and so they all stay there for hours, Bata and Hakoda joining them on their sleds. Of course, Aang cheats when they race each other, sending puffs of air behind him to propel him forward, but then so does Katara, bending snow into ice to ease the friction. Bato takes a tumble early on, eating it on the snow, and Hakoda laughs so hard he snorts, jolting the others until they’re giddy with laughter, too. Sokka protests the whole time, loses every single race, but he’s never felt higher.

* * *

It happens when they’re leaving, Hakoda and Bato dusting off their sleds while Aand watches Katara give one of the baby penguins a goodbye, though it seems perfectly content to stay and lay in her lap and fall asleep. The sight reminds Sokka he’s got one piece of seal jerky left in his pocket, and he looks around for the runt of the same litter, a tiny thing that captured his attention earlier. 

He spots them a ways away from Katara and Aang, their mother’s fin wrapped around them protectively. Sokka approaches the pair carefully, but the runt catches sight of him and squeaks, waddling over to him with excitement. The penguin topples at his feet, and he crouches down to help them up, while the mother examines Sokka skeptically at a distance.

“There ya go, that’s it,” he whispers as the penguin stands up once again. Their mother is right beside him now, like she’s just waiting for Sokka to make one wrong move. He tries a smile, a gesture to show her that he’s friendly, but it immediately backfires. If anything, the direct contact just hardens her glare. 

He switches tactics. “Here, I saved you something! Last piece,” he tells the runt as he slowly reaches for his coat pocket and takes the seal jerky out. The penguin wastes no time, taking the jerky right out of his hands, doing a little dance before it gobbles it up in one bite. Sokka laughs at their enthusiasm and moves to stand up and wave goodbye, and that’s the trigger—the movement apparently too quick and aggressive for the mother’s liking, as she smacks him with her fin, aim straight at his arm. The force of the hit knocks him off balance, hears a slight  click as he goes down. It’s only out of consideration for the baby in front of him that he doesn’t scream out in pain. 

Katara treats him then and there, Sokka shuddering at the weird sensation of her healing. Bato and Hakoda look on with folded arms, repeating what his dad had told them all earlier in a chastising manner,  _ be careful with the babies_, all while Aang has a heart-to-heart with the mother penguin, apologizing for Sokka’s behavior. If she hadn’t landed the perfect blow, Sokka would have no qualms squaring up with her right then and now.

“I think it’s dislocated, but you should be okay until we get back home,” she says examining his arm, lifting and bending it to see the extent of the damage. Sokka grumbles as he thanks her for her help. Bato offers him a hand as he gets up. 

He shakes the snow off his coat as best he can and faces the four of them, worried he’ll be unsteady on his feet. He puffs his chest out, serious.

“You have to promise you won’t tell anybody about this.” 

Katara regards him for a moment then pivots, walking away.

“I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep.”

* * *

Katara suggests he rests his right arm for at least week or two to let the wound heal properly. It’s then that he remembers he didn’t really come with a plan, didn’t know if he was staying or not, deciding instead to take things a day at a time. The relief he feels that the decision is made for him now is almost worth the humiliation of the injury.

He reads, picks up books Hakoda keeps in his office at random and goes through them, upset he can’t take notes in the margins. He spends a day teaching himself how to write with his left hand, and by the end of the week he proudly proclaims to his dad, Bato, anyone in the village who will listen, that he’s taught himself to be ambidextrous. Pakku reluctantly congratulates him on his achievements.

* * *

He writes to Zuko, writes to Suki and Toph, lets them know he’ll be in the South Pole for a while. Suki writes back, encouraging and tender, happy that he’s home, knows it will do him some good, wishing the others well. He tells her about The Incident, andshe sends back a couple of gold pieces,  _ I’m commissioning a piece of you getting whacked by a penguin. I’m going to frame it and place it on my wall so make it nice!! _

* * *

He lets Gran Gran dote on him, lets his father compliment him, “No, keep it, it looks good on you. And who knows, you might need it some day, anyway,” as he tries to return his coat. 

* * *

When he’s marginally better, he goes out on one of the canoes to watch the sun, bright and unmoving on the horizon. He writes to Zuko,  _ how does firebending work, _ _fire jerk_ ,  the heat reflecting off the ice and into his face, warming his cheeks. Zuko writes back,  _ What do you mean? Do you want me to go over my katas with you? _ and he rolls his eyes as he reads, returning a  _no, just like,, from the beginning, explain it to me like I’m dumb_. 

* * *

He reads Zuko’s next letter on his feet, unrolling the papers as soon as the hawk lands on its perch, Zuko writing,  _Not a problem!_ and promptly launching into lengthy explanation of solar sympathy, chi paths, and the importance of proper breathing techniques. He ends the letter with a postscript,  _ (P.S. You’re not dumb)_, and Sokka can barely keep it together, feeling all the way in the South Pole Zuko’s worry at carrying on the joke at Sokka’s expense. 

* * *

A couple of letters later, he hopes Zuko’s reading between the lines: 

_ The next time you visit, you should come spend a summer with us. The albedo alone would power you for months, just imagine, feeling the sunlight from all over, even coming up at you from the ground! We’ll go find the whitest patch of ice and just meditate, drinking it in. Or, you can. I’ll be there for moral support. _

_ I promise you you’d feel right at home—the sun never sets in the summer, you’d be in your element the whole time.  _

It feels like something else entirely when he ends the letter, writes:

We _ could watch the midnight sun together. _

* * *

Every so often the moon will position itself right in front of the kitchen windows. If they’re lucky, the skies are clear when the moon is full and the whole kitchen is bathed in its silver light. He doesn’t light the lamps then.

When they head to his room once more, he exits with a curt bow of his head, grateful for the kindness she’s paid him after all the hatred he’d paid her. Zuko never thought he’d be so indebted to the moon for giving him these nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> suki/zuko so transparently inspired by slow sun - the maccabees and the sokka scenes by love is all i am - dawes
> 
> any kudos/comments welcome bc i would love to talk about ot3 literally at any and all times


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> something to note: i don't want to tag this as PTSD (also, sorry i keep adding tags i really am just figuring it out as im writing) bc i am personally not comfortable with assigning that label but, they were kids, they fought a war, that's pretty fucked up.

It grows steadily, piece by piece, until it hits him all at once.

* * *

More and more over the time they spend at the South Pole, Sokka catches Aang cast a furtive glance at him, his furrowed brow wrinkling the arrow tattoo on his forehead. He never says anything, but Sokka can tell its on the tip of his tongue.

Other than the time his father refused to accept his coat back, no one mentions Sokka’s earrings. They don’t mention his haircut or bring attention to the fact it’s been weeks and his hair's the same length as the day he arrived because he shaves the sides down every morning. To be fair, he’s forgotten about it, as well; the feelings he’d had when he’d done it have long settled in the pit of his stomach, not so much burning alight anymore, more like an undercurrent he hears only when the rest of the world is silent. The morning before Aang’s departure, Sokka overhears them discuss it and he realizes—just because they haven’t mentioned it to him doesn’t mean it isn’t a well-worn topic of discussion between the four of them.

He’d finished writing his letters to Zuko and Suki early, had let inspiration take hold of him as he composed and perfected a pair of haikus for Zuko and another for Iroh because it’d been a while since they’d spoken (and Sokka still felt bad he’d avoided the man on his last visit to Ba Sing Se). Even then he’d finished earlier than usual, had had time to mail them all off and head back home before breakfast.

When he walks in, they’re huddled in the kitchen, each frozen in place holding a tray of cups or tea or puffin-seal sausages as if the conversation had sprung up on them and left their food forgotten.

“Has he spoken to you about it?” Bato asks.

“No,” Katara replies easily, “but he’s probably written to Suki or Zuko about it, that’s literally all he does anymore.” Bato shakes his head, huffs.

“I still think we should bring it up. He could be waiting for us to talk to him about it.”

If her tone leans too heavily into exasperation, well, she’s allowed. It’s her brother they’re talking about. “If Sokka wanted to talk about it, he would talk about it. He’s not that good at keeping things to himself.”

Aang sighs. “Katara, you know that’s not entirely true,” he starts, but he’s overruled when Hakoda chimes in, tone final.

“Katara’s right; Sokka isn’t the quiet type. We shouldn’t bring it up until he does.” Bato mutters something under his breath in response, and Hakoda straightens, almost knocking the sausages off his tray. “I’m only trying to do what’s best and Katara knows her brother best.” In other words, Hakoda and Bato weren’t there for a good portion of Sokka’s upbringing so maybe they should defer to Katara on this one. “We should listen to her.”

Bato relents, shoots him a look, _I support you but I still think you’re wrong_ , and Hakoda laughs as he remembers once again what it’s like to be on the receiving side of those glares.

“Who knows, maybe Sokka’s making up for lost time," he says, smiling. "Kya always said she’d take changing diapers over teenage rebellions. She was right, as always.”

Sokka bristles at that, “ _teenage rebellion_.” He isn’t even a teenager, anymore. As if he ever got to be one to begin with.

He makes his presence known from the doorway, acts oblivious, and the morning continues, the others rushing through the doorway to the table to set their food down. He can tell Aang doesn’t buy it, as he remains silent while the others overcompensate by talking too fast and too loud. He’s got that sad, _sad_ look on his face that makes Sokka want to give him the world, but, however faulty their reasoning, they’re right—he doesn’t want to talk about it.

Instead, Sokka asks him to heat up the sausages, the things gone cold from all their standing around. Aang acquiesces, figures it's somewhat of an apology. They talk, they eat, Katara leaves with Hakoda, Bato leaves for the port, and Aang, after a minute of hesitation, leaves to give Appa his second breakfast. Sokka heads back into his room, surrounded by letters and books and spare bits of parchment. If Katara wants to go off and say that all he does is write letters to Zuko and Suki even though that’s not _all_ he does, then fine, he’ll just write _more_ letters to Zuko and Suki. He just sent the one's he'd finished off not two hours ago, but Sokka’s nothing if not loquacious; he’s sure he can find something else to write about. Serves her right.

* * *

Momo doesn’t hate the cold, but he certainly doesn’t enjoy it as much as the others do. Aang supposes the garish sweaters he and Gran Gran have been knitting him aren’t helping matters, if Momo’s shrieks every time he spots a knitting needle lying around are anything to go by.

Aang wants to give the poor guy a break, so he sets up a visit to Teo at the Western Air Temple by week’s end. Katara decides to stay this time, reasoning he’ll only be away for two or three weeks, tops, so there’s no need for the both of them to make the journey. Besides, there’s so much to do at the South Pole: the whole tribe is engaged in discussions of rebuilding, from reconstructing the principle city, to reestablishing the routes between villages, to reconnecting with the Northern Water Tribe. All that time they spent away from home Katara was searching for markers of her tribe’s past and now she has the chance to build its future. She doesn’t want to miss a second of it.

Aang understands, knows this is something she has to do. She’s been so patient with him in his efforts to rebuild the air temples, something that’s had them flying around for months on end, it’s only fair for her to have this time with her family to do the same. He can’t wait to hear all about it when he gets back; he hopes, if she’s willing, if they all are, that there will be a place for him, too, somewhere in the future they’re building for each other.

* * *

Katara interrupts Sokka one afternoon when he’s in the middle of deciphering blueprints for the new building his father is proposing. She walks right into his room, sidestepping ink pots and loose pages of notes and a half-eaten packet of fire flakes, and asks, “Do you want to take a walk?” in that voice that tells him there’s a right and wrong answer to the question, so he gives up on the blueprints, puts on his dad’s coat, and they go for a walk.

She’s noticed how much time he’s spent in his little canoe, how tranquil he seems to be after he’s spent the morning writing or drawing by himself. She figures it might be the best place to have a potentially sensitive conversation, so she leads him out to the water.

Sokka stands by uselessly as she readies his canoe. “I thought we were going for a walk.” 

“And how did we get here, Sokka?” she deadpans, the paddles in her hands dangerously close to smacking him upside the head. “Did we fly?”

He’d throw her into the sea if he could, if she couldn’t bend it back at him.

They paddle out, not straying too far from the city. Katara silently takes in the inside of the canoe—paint splotches in yellow, green, and blue in all shapes and sizes staining the wood. When they’re drifting and all they can hear is the rush of the waters and the hollow echoes of the ice, she wastes no time.

“Are you alright?” she asks, as sharp and accusatory as she is concerned and genuine.

And he hates that she’s right after all, that he has been retreating into his letters. Floating out here, surrounded by the calm, blue waves for longer and longer, his writing has begun to take the same shape, longer and longer. For no other reason than he knows that whatever bullshit he writes down, Zuko will read seriously, unable to treat Sokka’s musings on what he had for breakfast and whether it agreed with him or not with any less attention than he would the state of affairs between the four nations. For no other reason than how many years have passed between them and Suki still finds his jokes funny, still can tell when he’s had a bad day regardless of whether he’s mentioned it or not.

And it’s not that he doesn’t love being home, either. There was a time when Sokka never thought he’d get to see his family again—his dad and Bato, alive and happy, laughing at Aang almost brain himself on a patch of ice; Hakoda serving him and Katara tea while they stay up late, chatting beside the fire. He loves researching plans and designing models for the new city center. He loves his Gran Gran’s cooking almost as much as he loves Gran Gran herself. He loves the kids who wait up for him in the mornings to see if he’ll join their snow fight this time and he loves their fight over who gets to have him on their team when he does. He loves reading about his history, talking to the elders of the town about what they remember about their village and what they’d like their tribe become as it grows.

But there’s something else there. Something that’s been poking at him since he left for Caldera City, since he saw that pitying look in Iroh’s eyes. Something that keeps evading his grasp whenever he sits down and tries to figure out what it is.

Sokka answers as best he can, but it’s hard, to tell the truth when you’re not sure what the truth is.

He says, after a while, “I think so.”

Katara glares, unsatisfied, and Sokka can’t help but think, _she’s so ridiculous, overprotective_ , especially when she’s tasked herself with protecting him from himself. She catches him about to roll his eyes, and she sends water from over the side of the canoe splashing into his face before he can.

The coldness cuts like a knife. “I’m figuring it out!” he splutters, though it’s hard to form words, face muscles no longer communicating with his brain.

He hears _tsk tsk_ as he wipes at his face with the fur at his cuffs, spreading the water around his face more than cleaning it up. When he can open his eyes again, she’s smirking right at him, but she holds out her hand and places it on top of his own down in his lap.

“See to it that you do, yeah?” With a swift motion, she wicks away the water that remains. “And you can always come talk to me, if you want. Even if I’m on the other side of the world, you’re still my brother. Unfortunately.”

* * *

After discussing it with his dad, Sokka travels to the North Pole to their sister tribe. As all their discussions and blueprints are slowly materializing into something real, Sokka’s task has now become gauging the North’s support for their plans, to facilitate an exchange of supplies or expertise, if that’s something they’re interested in. And maybe it’s because he can picture it so clearly—how the buildings would look against the matte white snow, how the torches would illuminate their facades in their harsh winter storms, how the little toddlers he’s started to see more and more of would splash at their reflections in the fountain they’d build in the center of the city. When they’d left with Aang all those years ago, it’s not like any of them could predict their victory, that they’d actually succeed in ending the war and protecting their people. This, on the other hand, feels like a more attainable goal, and Sokka can break it down into steps that feel tangible in his fingers.

It’s consumed him whole, how excited he is to get to it; it’s exactly the type of work he needs to counterbalance whatever it is that’s got him feeling left of center.

* * *

Sokka travels as far north as Merchant town in the Earth Kingdom. He’d arrived when the sun was still too high in the sky, just before noon, but after his journey on his eel hound—hours winding up and down the rocky mountains, battered by the arid heat, running low on supplies—he’s eager to fall into the nearest bed possible.

He checks into one of the lodgings for the merchants that frequent the town, barely paying attention to the kind lady at the desk who directs him to his room except for muttering a quick “thanks” as she left because he may be tired but he has _manners_ , and passes out.

It could be the oppressive heat of the day, the way it travels through the navy curtains hanging at the window and at the open doorway. It could be the way he hasn’t eaten anything in the last twenty-four hours, save for a some apple slices, a handful of peanuts, and the last pau bun in his bag after he gave the other one to his eel hound. It could be how it’s been years since he’s been to the North Pole and the reality that he’s going to be there again is finally sinking in. It could be how the events of the last time he was there have weighed on his mind, imposing and unshakeable as the mountain peaks and valleys he’s just traversed, since the moment they crossed over from experience to memory.

* * *

Yue’s there, smiling on the bridge. Yue’s there, laughing at something stupid he’s said to her because nearly everything he said to her was some kind of stupid, heart jackhammering, foot firmly in his mouth.

* * *

Yue’s there, and so is Sokka, boomerang in his hand, watching soot fall from the clouds, ash burning in his lungs.

Yue’s there, and so is Sokka, and she’s crying but he can’t see her, the moon gone and the world cast into infinite shadows.

Yue’s there, and then she’s not, limp in his hands, hair losing its luster, skin growing as cold as he’s ever felt, colder than the longest day of winter, colder than the roughest blizzard he’s endured.

Yue’s there, and then—he wakes. Breath ragged and wet, throat burning like sandpaper. There’s a figure shaking his shoulders.

“—Son! Son, are you alright?” and it’s the lady who led him to his room, kind face peering down at him in worry, greying hair tied in a top knot that comes looser and looser as she shakes him. Backlit, she appears to be glowing, spirit-like.

Sokka instantly shakes himself upright, away from her grasp. Her worry deepens.

He comes to, cowering in the far corner of the bed, back against the wall like a scared animal.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he rushes out. One more, after he forces himself to take a full breath in and out. “I’m fine.”

She considers him with a pitying suspicion. “Are you sure? We could hear your hollering from the front. Are you sure I can’t get anything for you, dear?”

It’s not the first time he’s had these nightmares, but it has been a while. Even then, when they were on the run, he’d never gotten to the point where he’d shouted. He’d always managed to wake before she died in his arms, comfort himself with the fantasy of an alternative ending where he’d had time to find a way to keep her safe, that she was alive and well and waiting for him to return to the North Pole with the good news.

“Ye—yes. I mean. No. All good,” he says. Another breath. He attempts a grin, the dazzling kind that lets him get away with all sorts of things. “Sorry for the noise. I’ll try to keep it down from now on.”

He hopes what he’s saying is coming out steady enough to get her to leave, but she continues to stand over him, to try and convince him to eat something or walk it off or something but Sokka just wants to rest, really, he just wants to be alone. She leaves after Sokka insists he’ll take her advice, voice growing sharper as his patience wears thin, but as soon as she’s out of earshot, he goes back to lie down on the bed. The breeze blowing through the room cools him slightly, but he runs hot on a regular day, not counting the nightmare sweats that have his hair sticking to his forehead. He grabs at the end of his tunic to dab at his temples. The linen is rough on his skin, but the sensation gives him something to focus on, the drag of the fabric a tether.

* * *

He eats, eventually. He feeds his eel hound and walks around a bit when the sun has begun its descent and the sky glows in pink and orange and not that incandescent white that bounces off the pale stone of the buildings. He meanders through the stalls in the commercial district, full of all sorts of treasures and handmade trinkets from the four nations, and it’s the type of thing he’d normally love, rifling through racks and bins of artisan items, merchants yakking his head off because he’s an easy mark and he doesn’t bother hiding it. And yet.

He can only try to hype himself up. He knows he’ll regret it later if he doesn’t, so he forces himself to linger at a stand selling trinkets based on the Avatar. There’s Aang masks (a couple years too young) and sashes of blue silk in the shape of an arrow (a couple commas too expensive) hanging on racks at the corners. Above the main table there are rows of Appa plushies in various sizes and rows of painted wooden carvings of Momo in various poses, some flying, other curled into a ball.

What catches his eye, though, is right in the center of the table: a bin full of miniatures in the shape of Aang’s glider. When he picks one up, the glider is the size of Sokka’s palm and it’s surprisingly accurate, too, which creeps Sokka out a bit because there’s only so many people who got to see Aang’s glider before he had to give it up. The wooden thing collapses and opens like the real thing used to do and Sokka commits to buying it for Aang because he thinks it would make him smile. And even if it doesn’t, Sokka could use it as a template for building Aang a new glider, one closer to the original than the one the Mechanist had made him.

He keeps rifling through the bin, dives his hand right in when he feels something sharp pricking his thumb. He grabs at the object carefully, and when he places it on his other palm, it’s a Kyoshi fan, not a broken glider like he expected. The fan is weightier, like it’s actually made of metal and not just painted wood. The etchings on each of the blades are like the ones he remembers, the geometric pattern impressive when he opens the fan completely, even at such a small scale. The edges of the blades look pointy so he checks them, forever a glutton for punishment, and yep, the fans are pretty accurate there, too, the blade drawing a drop of blood from his finger. He smiles to himself; despite the way it’s hurt him, he already loves the thing, decides to buy one for himself in honor of Suki right then and there.

He searches for another fan to buy then goes to pay, glad he actually made the time to stop by. As he walks through the other stalls he debates who he’ll give the other fan to. At first he thinks he’ll give it to Suki, but then, there’s no need when she’s got the real thing. Maybe he’ll give it to Mai. She likes pointy things.

* * *

The day’s gone dark after he’s eaten again and found his way back to his room. His exhaustion from the journey in still hangs around his shoulders; the walk didn’t wear him out like he’d planned, but it’s not like he got that much rest earlier. In the torchlight, the white stone of the stocky walls is cool and tough to the touch like the compressed snow of the buildings in the South Pole. It’s easy to lean into the false sense of familiarity the comparison brings as he gets ready for bed, chalking up the incident of the afternoon to nothing more than a bad bout of sunstroke and hunger.

* * *

He’s sure he sleeps until past the dawn because the curtains don’t reach past the edges of the wall so glimmers of sunlight flicker, light his face up sporadically, as the curtains wave with the wind. He wakes, turns his back to the window, falls back asleep.

* * *

Yue’s there, and so is Sokka but she’s crying. He doesn’t recall her ever yelling, but she stands in front of him, yelling all the same. He’d sooner cut his ears off than dwell in the sound a moment longer.

He bolts awake, same cold sweat as before. No shouting this time, at least.

* * *

He postpones his departure a day. To clear his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this ch inspired by sufjan's blue bucket of gold yes i am that emo
> 
> this past week was a bit rough and also i couldn't write as much as i wanted so this happened!! sorry i keep teasing an actual plot and then....not getting to it Truly i am like pepe silvia.jpeg rn and like it's coming i promise but writing is hard :/ also like...sokka never got to process what happened at the north pole......
> 
> thank u to everyone who left a kudos/comment!!! i am sending u good vibes wherever u are :)))


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see your intricate rituals and raise u
> 
> Space Sword

Toph is staying over at the palace so Zuko makes sure to clear his schedule completely, to refuse any and all visits from political and spiritual leaders alike, to effectively place a sign on the palace door that says: _Sorry, we’re closed. Please, come again soon!_

He loves her, truly, but he does it more out of professional precaution than anything else. Toph was raised much like he was, paraded around rich nobles who valued proper etiquette and discouraged childish behavior. There are moments when she reminds him so much of Azula, how they used to run around when they were too young to hate each other, when the jabs and the teasings were that of sibling rivalry and nothing more. He misses it, misses Azula always, and so he vows to make the most of it when Toph comes round, delighting in her recklessness and the slight chance that she’ll punch him if he gets too sappy around her. The hits hurt but they don’t bother him; with all the time that’s passed, he hopes he’s gotten better at deciphering an _I love you_ , whatever its form.

So he loves her, understands her in a way the others might not, but he prepares. She grew up much like he did, and therein lies the problem: when she strikes, tries to run the bigwigs at the palace up the wall, she doesn’t miss.

She arrives carried by Suki piggy-back style, the other girl walking tall across the courtyard as if she weren’t balancing a whole other human on her shoulders. He always feels like an idiot welcoming his friends like this, standing alone in front of a door wrought from iron ten times his height, but, a door’s a door, he reckons, whatever its size.

“‘sup, Sparky.”

“Just once, if any of you could use my actual name—”

“—Just once, if any of you could use my actual name,” she mocks in an exaggeratedly raspy tone. Suki snickers at Zuko’s horrified reaction.

Toph continues over his sputtering objections. “Hey, Sparkles, what happened to the fireworks? The royal guard I requested? All I’m hearing is silence. Scratch that, all I’m hearing is whining.”

“Toph, I am not calling the royal guard to welcome you every time you visit the palace.”

Her displeasure is obvious. “So this is how you welcome the greatest earthbender of all time?” she motions in his general direction. 

“I think Bumi would have something to say about that,” he smirks. Hook, line—

Sinker. “ _Bumi,_ ” she seethes, “can go suck a—”

“—Hey, hey, easy now!” Suki steadies a swaying Toph on her shoulders, the latter leaning forward, pointing sharply at Zuko. “Bumi is Aang’s friend, be nice.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, everyone is Aang’s friend,” she mutters, but she cools down and holds on to Suki’s hands on her knees, not really wanting to send them both careening forward. He smiles at that, which has Suki smiling back, which has Toph blazing through the moment.

“Alright, enough chit chat, I’m starving and standing around here makes me feel like a fool.” She stops, starts, “Well, makes you two fools. I’m not standing.”

Zuko sighs, gears up for the days ahead, and goes about the complicated process of opening the doors. He gets why the door opens like this, through a complex set of firebending poses, and he gets that it’s supposed to be a whole Thing. But now, when he has to go through this process every time one of the gang visits, it’s excessive is what it is.

* * *

It’s after Toph’s gone through half of the sizzle crisps he had stashed in the kitchen that he remembers to ask. Suki’s gone off to start her watch, so it’s only him, seated at the table watching on horrified as she shovels crisp after crisp into her mouth and washes it all down with watermelon juice.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“No, I’m great,” she replies automatically. “Why d’you ask?”

“You don’t usually let yourself be carried like that.”

She waves the box in her hand at him threateningly. “Yeah, well, the palanquin I requested never showed up.” He snorts at her commitment to the bit, the pull of being treated like royalty too strong, even if it means losing her seismic sense for a moment.

“Spirits, you’re never gonna let this go, are you?”

The sizzle crisps paint her mouth and fingertips red. She grins. “Nope!”

* * *

He doesn’t see much of the others until the next night when they eat dinner. Mai and Ty Lee had both been nowhere to be found from the night before, suspiciously taking Toph along with them. He hadn’t even seen Suki, probably turning in after a whole day posted at the keep.

They’re out in the garden—at Toph’s insistence—sitting underneath the great maple tree, unwilling to let the night end so soon. The night is chilly and windy in the way it’s not advisable for them to stay out too late, but Ty Lee brings out blankets and pillows and Mai nods at him, “Do the thing,” so he does the thing, keeps a little fire burning in his hands resting on his lap.

If he recalls correctly, he’d never, in all his trainings, practiced how to laugh and bend at the same time. (He’s sure his uncle would remind him he’s still a young firebender, so there’s loads he’s still got to learn about his craft.) But after a close miss at setting his robes on fire with a particularly loud snort that takes everyone by surprise, he thinks he’s got the hang of it. Suki’s teasing Toph about her short-lived crush on Sokka and Zuko can’t help himself, commits the moment to memory; it still stirs something in him to firebend like this, for fun, for his _friends_.

Mai and Toph get on like matchstick and flame, and they’re the ones that keep the conversation going, Ty Lee encouraging them with an unrepentant smile. Not one of them will tell him why Toph is here or why she gave such a short notice for her visit. Suki makes like she doesn’t know, which Zuko believes, but when he asks Mai she stares back primly, remarking, “Mind your business,” so he decides to go to the source.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you, but why are you here, exactly?”

“Can’t it be enough that I miss my favorite Fire Lord?”

“When you’ve only met two and the other was my dad, I don’t think so.”

Suki frowns from where she’s sat against the trunk of the tree. She chides, a small _hey_ , always on first alert for when his moody about-faces. Toph punches him in the shoulder. He howls, reminds them all he’s got an actual fire in his hands so if they could _please_ refrain from punching him, it’d be much appreciated, thanks.

“Oh, come off it, Sparkles,” and her voice turns soft and quiet as it does when she’s not joking around. “I do miss you, though. It’s sincere in a way that Zuko tentatively believes. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen all of you.

“Also, I have unfinished business with Mai,” and there it is, the other shoe dropping.

Zuko sighs. “As long as you three—yes, you too, Ty Lee— don’t set anything on fire like—”

“—You’re the firebender here why would we set anything on fire?”

He shoots them an unimpressed look. “I have no idea! And yet, somehow, I still feel the need to ask.”

Mai matches his glare. “No promises.”

“ _Yes_ promises.”

He’s met with silence. Mai is a brick wall.

“Ugh, fine.”

He drops it, and Toph moves on, tells stories of her adventures in Yu Dao, Ba Sing Se, until they’re left wondering how much of it is true and how much of it she’s embellished. Ty Lee cuddles deeper into the blankets, steadily moving closer to Mai as the night goes on. Suki’s the only one of them that bothered to layer up, wearing one of her lighter wool coats from home. The dark blue peeks out from under the blankets as she laughs with the others, absentmindedly tugging at the gold studs in her ears. She sips the baijiu Toph brought her as a gift (which Zuko had confronted her about, asking jokingly, “Where’s my gift?” to which Toph had plainly replied, “Suki’s my favorite. She gets the gifts,” and, well, he couldn’t argue with that logic) right after each laugh, as if it’s only in those moments that she remembers it’s there.

Zuko’s mostly silent, asking a question here or there, but content to fade into the background, to linger in the feeling of good conversation and friends. His eyes catch on Suki on his left every so often, and he lets himself linger on that, too, excusing himself by saying it’s just the baijiu kicking in. She’s sat in his spot, where the branches of the tree form the perfect little dip against the trunk. He usually sits there to admire the turtleducks in the pond, but from where he’s sitting now, he admires how the fire leaves her face unlit as she leans back against the hard wood. The flames illuminate her neck as she closes her eyes, and that’s when he pulls back, when the shadows cast by the flames dance against her skin and he feels like he’s been made privy to something that isn’t his to admire.

She catches him staring as he makes to shift his focus elsewhere, and she smiles, different to the ones she gives the other as they go about one-upping each other’s stories. This one’s barely there, something private for the two of them, and it’s amazing how she can carve out a space for him amidst the lot of them. She mouths a question, _you good?_ , and he blinks slowly, _yeah, you?_ and she nods slow, goes back to leaning her head against the tree, closing her eyes. He feeds the flames in his hands, fighting back the chill.

* * *

Zuko had breakfast alone with Suki, the other three spirits knows where. Still a little sleepy from the late night, it’s a quiet affair for the both of them. The birds outside are quiet, as well, and the late morning air feels like it’s lived in, like they’ve been here a hundred times before.

The clouds gather outside into one big canopy of mist; they’re white and grey in the way that might mean rain, but Suki has a feeling it’s more of a threat than a promise. When she peers her head to look out the window, she’s met with a stillness, the landscape so unmoving that her eyes readjust until she’s looking at her own reflection in the glass. Zuko’s almost cut off by the frame, jet black hair in stark contrast with the sky, scar and robes a matching shade of red, face fuller, serene, less angular than she remembers.

When she turns back to her plate, rice half eaten and forgotten in its bowl, Zuko’s there. He tentatively meets her gaze with a slight smile, breaking away too soon to stare down at his tea like it’s suddenly captured all of his attention. She’s breaks the spell.

“Any plans for today?”

He shrugs, shakes his head slightly. “I cancelled everything when you told me Toph was coming.”

“Good call.”

He takes a generous swig of his tea, wincing at how it scalds his tongue. “Thought so, but now…”

“…But now, she’s nowhere to be found.”

“Yeah.”

She hums in response. Silence fills the room again, but it’s still comfortable, inviting, even. She sips her tea, considers the day before them.

“Maybe you can take the day off, I dunno, relax.”

He plays dumb. “Me? Relax?”

“It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, y’know,” she scolds him, same as she always does.

Without work, there’s not much Zuko’s got to do. It’s a nice enough day to meditate, but he’s not really feeling it. He’d practice his bending, but that doesn’t call out to him either. If bending’s out, then so is sword training, which, to be honest, is probably best as long as Toph is within fighting distance.

He spooks when Suki sets her cup down and claps her hands together as if she’s decided something in the time it took him to run through the three things he’s good at.

“Well, I’m gonna go practice the pipa Aang sent me,” she says, standing. She peers down at him where he’s seated on the floor. She says nothing, he stiffens, she holds her gaze, he crosses his arms defensively. _Spirits_ , help her.

“You’re welcome to join, if you want,” she finally huffs out.

And that’s how they spend the day: sat in the grass in the hidden corner of the garden. Zuko had grabbed at a random play from the library on his way out while Suki went for her pipa and the practice book Aang had sent along with it. Zuko could only get so far into the first act until he realized what Suki trying to play the pipa actually entailed. She wasn’t awful, not exactly, but she was every bit a beginner—notes running flat and sharp inconsistently, notes cutting off without enough pressure from her on the fretboard, strings gradually going out of tune the more she played. She’d asked him to set the little book on fire more than once, but he’d just upped his encouragement, pressing her to keep at it though he was every bit delighted that there was at least one thing in this world Suki wasn’t a master at.

The feeling doesn’t last long, clouds creeping upon them just as she can pick her way up and down the first scale in the book, but, even then. The look on her face when she’d done it—beaming brilliant and wide at him—like electricity up and down his spine.

* * *

It turns out Toph did bring Zuko something, he just had to work for it first.

They’re at dinner again, Toph and the others apparently only showing up when there’s food involved. Toph and Ty Lee are inexplicably covered in dirt; Mai is as clean and immaculate as always. Toph’s on a tangent about her favorite student this year, So La, which, they soon gather, is mostly because the girl reminds Toph of herself.

“She’s the one that found the meteorite, right?” Suki asks, and that’s the first that Zuko’s heard of that.

“Yeah, apparently it landed not too far from her house.”

Zuko chimes in. “What happened?”

“Some meteorite crashed somewhere near her house a couple weeks ago. That’s what she said, anyway, when she told me about it. She thought it could be useful for practice so she brought it over to the academy.”

“She brought it by herself?”

“No, of course not. They can barely lift a coin right now,” she scoffs. “Obviously, I brought it over. But it’s the thought that counts.”

Zuko’s taken aback at that, the kindness in her voice. For all her complaints about the lily livers, it seems they’ve cornered a soft spot in her heart.

“That’s pretty cool, Toph,” he says sincerely. Suki nods along.

“‘s pretty cool. Pretty lucky, too. Have you been able to practice with it yet?” she asks, and they talk about the academy until they part ways, full and content.

* * *

When he brings it up later, much later, he marvels at her restraint in waiting days after her arrival to bring up the meteorite. She points out it took him a full twenty-four hours to get the hint, so he lets it be.

It’s when the girls deign to join them in the kitchen the following night that he asks her, trying his best to sound offhand.

“Hey, so do you think you could spare a chunk of that meteorite?” She’d gone off about how big the thing was (how bringing it to the academy was a piece of cake nonetheless), and she’d mentioned how the students wouldn’t be able to do anything with it for the time being, so he figures he could get away with stealing a piece for himself.

“Maybe. Why?”

Admittedly, he should’ve thought about this a bit more and come up with an excuse because he very much does not want to explain his actual reason to any of them.

Toph clears her throat, expectant. He buys some time.

“I was thinking—”

“Never a good sign,” May mutters. Zuko turns to her, scowls.

Toph clears her throat again after a beat. _In for a penny._

“I was thinking, um…” he trails off, unsure where to start. “Um, d’you remember when you and Sokka were on that war balloon?” he tries.

“…Are you asking if I remember being a hundred meters up in the air about to fall to my death were it not for Sokka holding onto my arm?”

“…Yeah.”

She pauses, amazed at how thick he could be sometimes. “No, I have no recollection of it, why?”

“Oh, fuck off,” he scoffs, taking a shot at her shoulder, which only ends in her taking a shot back at him, noticeably harder than his. He yelps at the pain, _why is she so tiny and why does it hurt so much always_ , but she pays no attention to him, grabbing the last of the sizzle crisps on the table instead.

They settle down, and he flushes under their attention; there’s no way he’s making it out of this unscathed so he just, goes for it.

“I was thinking, since Sokka lost space sword that day and he never shuts up about it, and he always sends me these invoices for it like it’s _my_ fault he lost it, also that’s not what invoices are for in the first place? Who even does that? Lists a meteorite as a line item? And I have to tell him just because I’m Fire Lord doesn’t mean I can just _conjure_ up meteorites out of the sky, not even Aang can do that,” he’s babbling, he’s desperately trying to reign in it, “But, you have one now. So. Can I have it?” he finishes lamely, “For Sokka.”

There’s an itch in throat—he’s not used to speaking so many words at any one time—and it’s the only thing to distract him from the way they stare at him, and, in Toph’s case, the way her arm is suspended midway in the air, crisps in hand, mouth hanging open.

“Wow,” Toph stretches the word out long.

Across the table, Ty Lee’s holding back a grin, but it’s that deceptive smile of hers, the one that could mean sympathy or ruthlessness and he’s got no way of knowing which it’ll be. Sokka better appreciate that damn sword.

* * *

For all the buildup, for all that excruciating conversation Zuko wished the ground to swallow him up whole, things get sorted pretty quickly after that. Suki writes to Piandao and arranges the whole thing with him while Toph coordinates with Zuko to pick up the meteorite at the academy, a not too far a journey away from Piandao’s castle. The date is set, they’ve made a whole week of it, and then the only thing to do is to write to Sokka himself.

That’s when he starts to lose steam.

Sitting with Suki in his personal study, he’s been trying and failing to put brush to paper for the past five minutes. He’s managed to talk himself out of the whole plan in record time.

He asks, “Shouldn’t you go?” and she immediately exhales at the question, clearly over having this conversation again, but he presses onward, “It’s not unreasonable that you should go! You were with him that day, _you_ were the ones who took out the fleet. You and Toph should be going, not me.”

“Zuko, it was your idea. You should go.”

“But—”

“ _Zuko_ , I swear on Kyoshi herself—” He flounders a bit, but doesn’t push it any further, Suki promptly turning back to her own letters.

He writes to Sokka, asking if he’ll join them at Piandao’s. He keeps it vague so he can surprise him once he gets there and he keeps it short because outside of the ask Zuko doesn’t know what to tell him. He doesn’t even know where to address the letter.

The mood is different when he gets her attention again.

“Suki?”

“Yeah?” She doesn’t take her gaze off the paper in front of her. He repeats himself. She puts her brush down, sending him a questioning look as she does.

There’s a whole list of things he means to say, but nothing he wants to say out loud. “I… I haven’t spoken with Sokka in a while.” Weeks, it’s been weeks.

She scoots to face him. “River Village, right?” she nods. Zuko won’t look at her directly so she has to lean into his space to get his attention. She reaches out to lift his head up by his chin, but she pulls back at the last second, getting a hold of herself. Zuko’s none the wiser.

“It’s been a while, yeah, but. He’s still Sokka; you’re still Zuko. Nothing’s changed.”

He lets her finish before he corrects her, embarrassed that he has to. “No, I mean I haven’t gotten a letter from him,” he says quietly. “In a while.”

“Oh.” _Yeah._

“Look, whatever. I’m overthinking this,” he startles, too loud between the both of them. He turns back to the table and readies his brush hastily. He looks up at her. “This is going out to the North Pole, right?” He hates the hesitation in his voice. He hates her hesitation even more.

“Oh, um, no,” she starts slowly. She scoots back, eyes searching his. “No, he left there weeks ago. I thought—” her voice turns to a whisper, “I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t. I _don’t_. I just told you I haven’t heard from him in _weeks_.”

And she’d respond with something comforting—an excuse that maybe the letters got lost on the way because that happens sometimes, or maybe that Sokka’s been impossibly busy lately—but she knows better and she doesn’t lie. She just wrote back to him the other day. He’s not doing well. He’d struggled at the North Pole coordinating with Arnook’s men and she’d gathered he wasn’t sleeping well before he’d up and confessed he’d been having nightmares again, his mind running amok with memories of Yue and using them against him. She senses he’s going through more than he lets on, which is just as well because she feels useless all the way on the other side of the world, nothing much she can do from here but write _oh, honey_ and promise she’ll be with him soon before long.

Zuko half expects her to dismiss his moping, but when she does nothing of the sort he deflates completely. So it’s true then, that Sokka wants nothing to do with him. For whatever reason. He forces a breath, but he can’t keep the misery out of his voice when he speaks again.

“Maybe it’s best if you write to him. He’ll answer if it’s you.” He realizes his error as soon the words come out his mouth.

“I’m not a hawk. If you’ve got something to tell him you tell him yourself,” she snaps.

“I didn’t—shit, no, of course not,” he rushes out.

Suki relaxes, understands what he probably meant anyway. He doesn’t let up.

“Are you sure you won’t come, though?” he asks softly. “‘s no doubt Sokka would be happy to see you. And Piandao, too, all the White Lotus love you.”

She feels for the both of them, but she’s not some in-between. She rolls her eyes, “They all love you, too.”

“Maybe. Not like you, though.”

He waits for her reply.

“C’mon, Suki.”

“I’m not gonna go all the way to Shu Jing to watch you two wave your swords around for hours on end!” she replies, then quirks her brows, smirk upturned.

“Although…” and that smirk is _deadly_ , he thinks, “I’m not entirely opposed, y’know,” she wiggles her eyebrows and winks and Zuko turns a violent shade of scarlet, red spreading to down to his neck. She cracks up at the sight.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” She places a warm hand on his shoulder after she wipes away at the corner of her eyes, repeating the phrase, “Oh, you’re too easy, it’s too easy,” as her laughter dies down. Zuko’s still unmoving in his mortification, and Suki squeezes at his forearm to make sure he’s still alive.

“Nah, you two can go. Have fun. We’ll go together next time, yeah? The three of us. Give Sokka some time to get reacquainted before I kick both of your asses.”

* * *

Sokka gets Toph’s letter first. It’s in the iron gall ink she uses, the clean black-blue lines a testament to how precise a bender she is. The sheet of paper is small, but the writing’s massive: nothing but a simple time and place punctuated by a _be there or else_.

He gets Suki and Zuko’s letters second, both arriving on the same hawk, papers scrolled into one another. Suki kindly goes through lines and lines of comforting words, affirmations, acknowledgements of what he’s going through—it’s fifty different ways of saying I love you, he knows—but it ends unequivocally: _you’re going to Piandao’s with Zuko. you’re going to have_ fun _. don’t blow him off or i’m hunting you down_.

He reads Zuko’s next, the letter tinged all over with guilt—his own absolutely justified, Zuko’s completely uncalled for. The letter is short in a way their exchanges haven’t been in ages, the thing a carbon copy of Toph’s letter sans threat, a _Hope you’re well_. in its place.

He gets Piandao’s letter third, welcoming and jovial, at least as jovial as he’s ever known Piandao to be. He’s looking forward to having his best pupil back under his roof, and for that moment, Sokka is, too. The letter warms him up as much as it drags him into a melancholic funk; the fond memories of crafting his own sword (oh, how he misses his Space Sword) and earning Piandao’s respect mixing with the realization that years later he’s still got the same hang-ups about himself as he did then.

Katara and Aang’s letter arrive on the eve of his journey after he’s gone back and forth on actually making the trip a million times over. He uncorks the holder, and opens the letter to find Aang’s drawn Zuko and him sword fighting, or what he _assumes_ is Zuko and him sword fighting, though the jumble of stick figures holding sticks in their hands could be something else entirely. Katara’s portion is hard to decipher, too, her _I know how much it meant to you._ and _You deserve this!! So don’t fuck it up!_ too cryptic for him to deal with so late at night, so he places the sheet in his bag and gets as much sleep as he can.

* * *

Sokka arrives in Shu Jing later than he’d originally planned. There’s no reason as to why; the trip wasn’t long and he’d had no delays, but sometimes things just happen the way they do. He hikes his way up the mountains, to Piandao’s.

He’s almost embarrassed to walk through the doors when he gets there, the afternoon stretching into the evening stretching into whatever time it was now; Katara’s advice to not mess this up rings uncomfortably in the back of his mind.

The doors are open slightly, giving easily under his hand, and he walks right in. Immediately he’s confronted with Zuko sitting on the porch steps, arms wrapped around himself, leg bouncing anxiously. He turns alarmed at the creak of the door, but his shoulders slump when he realizes it’s just Sokka.

Zuko stands as he moves closer, steadying himself on one of the posts as he does, brushing the dirt away from his clothes as Sokka comes to a halt. From a step below, Sokka can see he looks comfy in his unassuming Fire Nation robes, this side of sleepy, and a dash of something he can’t place.

“It’s late,” is what he says, of all the things he has to say. “You didn’t have to wait up for me.”

Zuko makes an abortive shrug. “You said you’d be here earlier. Got worried.”

“I didn’t mean to keep you up,” he whispers honestly as Zuko yawns into his hand.

“‘s fine.”

Then there’s quiet; the buzz of insects flying away from the pair of lamps at either side of them fills the gap. Sokka gives himself this moment, looking up at Zuko reckless and unashamed. He wasn’t sure he’d be here—his own mind playing cruel tricks on him—and even now, as he stares, he’s scared to blink, lest it’s all an apparition and Zuko’s well and truly gone. Zuko’s rubbing sleepily at his right eye, but when he catches Sokka’s gaze, he stiffens, blushes high on his cheeks, quickly places his arm back down. The switch is so quick it causes Sokka to laugh something bright and brash, the sound cutting through the cold, cutting right at Zuko.

“Missed you, hotman.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't talk (put your head on my shoulder) - the beach boys inspired this ch, esp the last part cause, well, who does the homosocial better than the beach boys lmao 
> 
> as always, if u left kudos i wish u prosperity, happiness, love, etc :))))) ty ty


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry

Zuko can’t pour over the letters he wrote, see if there’s something he said that would make Sokka angry, if he spoke out of turn or insulted him, and rereading the last letter he received reveals nothing out of the ordinary; Sokka takes up a whole page recounting an afternoon on the water with Momo then moves onto transcribing his grandmother's recipe for seaweed soup. Zuko doesn’t know what he could have possibly done wrong.

* * *

Sokka plays a game where he guesses what his nightmares will be about that night. Sometimes, he’s stuck at the North Pole, black encroaching until everything is hidden under shadows and he tries and fails to change the past. Sometimes, he’s at the palace, running up on the roof after a shapeless figure crying out into the night.

If he really thinks about it, he’s not a surprised that Zuko creeps into his dreams, not when he spends an inordinate amount of time thinking about him already. He does berate himself, though, all that energy he spent grilling Suki, interrogating the palace security, pouring through the incident reports of the kidnapping that went too far. The one and only time he’d ever seriously pulled rank had been to get those documents, to know from top to bottom what had happened and why and _who_ had let it happen; in the end, he’d been outvoted, anyway, barred from their meeting at the Tribunal for fear he might do well on his promise to fight Zuko’s generals to the death. Now, it’s almost worse, he thinks, because it’s not his memory he’s dreaming of, so the feelings always come new to him, no matter how many times the scene plays on.

Sometimes, he guesses right and the prize is knowing before-hand which of his worst nightmares is up next. Sometimes, he guesses wrong, and his consolation prize is the comfort that comes with knowing at least it wasn’t _that_ nightmare.

Some nights, he’s a wildcard, and his brain does this thing where his dreams are a mashup of all the horrors he’s got on his mind. He runs after Yue, she escapes over the wall; he beckons Zuko back to him, he never answers.

He reaches a point it gets out of hand, dreams of Katara and Aang getting hurt, Suki dueling Azula, leaving his dad behind, so he takes his mother’s advice, starts eating his last meal a healthy three hours before bed. He sticks to his routine—early mornings and cross training—eats more greens than he usually would, and keeps himself occupied enough he’s exhausted by day’s end.

It works. Sometimes.

* * *

Zuko can hold onto his fake outrage until the moment Sokka walks through Piandao’s gates, at which point he can feel it collapse into a puddle at his feet. The morning after when Sokka finally joins them for breakfast, he feels like a buoy in the middle of the South Sea.

Sokka greets Piandao and apologizes profusely for his late arrival. The man takes it in stride, patting him heartily on the back and inviting him to sit down with them, just about finished with their meal. Sokka glances in his direction as he takes a seat, but he directs his conversation to Piandao; Zuko sips his tea quietly as they catch up, not that hungry and not so sure of how or when to chime in.

Sokka’s never been this much of a morning person, and it occurs to Zuko that he’s putting up a front for their host’s sake. Zuko leaves that thought be though it itches like scab, and he busies himself with taking morning in: there’s a healthy cloud cover outside from what he can tell, but if he closes his eyes to focus, he can feel the heat of the sun travelling through him, in and out as he respires.

He tunes into pieces of their conversation here and there. This Piandao is still new to him, but then again the Piandao he knew when he was younger was under Ozai’s command. It’s nice, he thinks, how things can change.

“—Wait, you’re leaving?” Piandao’s excusing himself from the table.

“It couldn’t be avoided, Sokka, I’m sorry. In any case, I’m sure you won’t miss me too much today. Zuko will be keeping you company, won’t you?”

Zuko turns his gaze from the window. “Oh, uh, yeah.”

“Good.” He gives them both a curt smile. “I don’t believe I’ll be back before dinner so please, help yourselves. Don’t hesitate to ask Fat for anything you might need.” They both nod, and he bows in return. Fat regards them with the same respectful contempt as always.

Sokka looks at Zuko, confused and not unkind when Piandao is safely out the door.

“I thought the whole point of coming here was to train with Piandao?”

“It is. Well, kind of. He’s probably betting we won’t be sparring too much today.”

“What does that mean?”

Zuko had run through various ways of breaking the surprise to him, but he could never get the ending right, could never build up to the moment properly. He never considered Sokka might be upset, either, at being brought to Shu Jing under false pretenses.

“We’ll be too busy to spar today.”

Sokka doubles down on his glower. “What does _that_ mean?”

“I, um, have something for you. A gift.” He lights up at that, but not much.

“And this ‘gift’ is going to occupy us the whole day?”

“I… think so?”

"Are you trying to set up a joke right now? You know you're not very good at that."

"I''m being serious!" he says, then mutters, _jackass_ , under his breath.

Any other time it’d be funny how Sokka stares at him for a beat longer and then purposefully sets his spoon down and brings his hands together in front of him.

He starts slowly. “Okay, then. Are you going to tell me what in spirits’ name is going on right now?” Zuko can tell he’s growing annoyed and trying to hide it. This is going well.

“It’s probably best if I show you,” he says, putting his cup down to match Sokka.

In the warm light that creeps through the windows, Zuko finally gets a good look at him. The deep-set bags under his eyes frame his face into something older, and though the sleeveless tunic he’s wearing leaves his muscles out on display, it accentuates how he’s drawn his shoulders in, like he’s retreating into himself. It’s unnatural; Zuko doesn’t know how to reach him, the right words to say and how to say them, when he feels so far away.

He hopes his displeasure lasts only until Zuko reveals the truth, but more than that he’s tired of the whiplash of Sokka’s mood swings and he's a little peeved that Piandao get the nice Sokka while he gets... whatever this is. He gets that he’s not a morning person, never has been, but to think that the person that walked through the gates the night before was the same person before him now is absurd.

“Did Suki not tell you anything about the trip?"

“No, she just said we’d be training. That it would be good to take a break and, like, have some bro-on-bro time.” Zuko decidedly does _not_ heat up at the phrase. Sokka quirks up a brow at him and he flushes even redder.

“Do I need to go get my boomerang?”

Zuko shakes his head as he stands. Sokka motions _lead the way_.

* * *

He leaves the North Pole optimistic but nerves thoroughly frayed. He gives them the benefit of the doubt that it’s not personal, the things they say. He can weave through any conversation like water, in and out and frictionless; years of training later, he’s learned to play his part well, practicing on the mean Fire Nation generals and the snooty nobles of the Earth Kingdom.

Arnook is bent on providing the Southern Water Tribe with the resources they demand, and, in fairness, most of the other chiefs follow suit. But it’s fraught territory for Sokka, because their discussions devolve into semantics about who gets credit for what and that’s not to mention their attitude is starting to piss him off.

He can just about hear Katara rants on how they left the Southern Water Tribe for dead come to the fore whenever they make one of those throwaway comments about the South, whenever they edge on impropriety. In his life Sokka’s never felt the need for the desire to signal he is Hakoda’s son, the _head chieftain’s_ son, but he gets real close, their blasé attitude playing out before him as if their own princess hadn’t died to save them all from the end of the world. As if his own _mother_ hadn’t died because they’d decided to defend themselves only, the South be damned.

Arnook gets his respect and his silence because he can tell he’s trying and because Sokka could never look at the moon in good conscience if he were to cause him any disrespect. And because he knows it’s not as simple as all that. But it’s a close thing: He fights through it gritting his teeth, disarms them with a smile, lets them say what they will and lets them believe they’re a step ahead. He fumes in his letters to his sister and dad every night when they’ve adjourned, keeping in mind the objective at hand and the people that matter.

And then there’s Yue. He’s allowed passage into the Spirit Oasis where he draws Tui and La until he’s run out of charcoal and then he paints Yue until he’s used up the blue pigments for his watercolors. It’s nearing winter and the moon shines for longer and longer each day now; there’s nothing like the way his whole being feels alight under her while he’s sat on the grass with flowers in bloom all around him. The rush of the springs behind him is enough to cover whatever sounds he makes. He remembers Yue. He remembers his mother.

It’s the way she’d held his hand and the way he failed her, in the end, when it counted. They both did, and it’s twice over he’s failed the ones he loves.

* * *

Walking on the pitch, stepping through the threshold of Piandao’s workshop, it’s surreal. The air is crisp the way it always is up high in the mountains and the sun pokes through the clouds enough it warms the back of his neck. His skin pebbles at the breeze, but he doesn’t mind. They walk past the empty forge, the roof cuts off the sunlight and leaves them in shadow as they delve deeper into the shop. The place is as clean as can be, but it’s a workshop nonetheless, black soot lining every surface, soaking up the light that manages to pass through.

Zuko stops in the middle of the space, next to one of the anvils, in front of some black carp from what Sokka can make of it. Zuko keeps quiet for a moment, and he’s got some complicated look on his face, and he’s still wearing those unassuming robes from the night before, pants a dark red that tapers at the ankles, plain black shoes, red cotton shirt with tight sleeves clinging to his skin. At once, he’s both reminded of the boy he met at the Air Temple and confronted with the image of someone entirely new.

“This is really Toph’s gift, she’s the one who found it. Well, technically one of her students did. But she let me keep a piece when I asked, so she deserves the credit. Suki does too, cause she planned the whole thing and set it up with Piandao. I just. I was just told to show up." He laughs to himself.

“ _Spirits_ ,” he mutters, “uh, Agni, just—here.” He steps to the side and throws the cloth off.

Zuko looks like he’s ready to blow, but truly, all Sokka sees is a big rock. Literally just a big rock on the floor, tall enough to reach Zuko’s chest. It’s dark and rough and shiny in spots but that’s about all he can gather. He doesn’t want to be rude—maybe it’s a Fire Nation tradition he’s unfamiliar with?—but even then he'd have no idea what an appropriate reaction would be. It could be… but no, it couldn’t be.

“This is… a big rock?”

He has no way to answer that, has no idea if meteorites count as rocks. _What is a rock anyway? Is it any piece of compact earth? Does it count as a rock if it’s not from Earth?_ Zuko’s a firebender, ask him to heat a pot of tea or start a campfire or set a building on fire and he can do that. He doesn't do that last thing anymore, but if given the order, he most certainly can. He’s the _Fire Lord_ , he's been training to do all those things his whole life. _Why is he being tested on geology right now._

“Zuko.”

“Yeah?”

Sokka points at the meteorite. “Rock?”

“I don’t know _,_ ” he blurts out, serious. Sokka’s eyes widen at his distress.

“ _What,_ " he asks, in between a chuckle.

Zuko mourns all the grand gestures that could have been had he not had a geological crisis.

“I don’t know if meteorites count as rocks, I’m sorry.”

Sokka wants to poke fun and correct him, o _f course they are_ , _you idiot_ , but the words get caught in his throat and he’s not laughing anymore.

“When you sent all of those invoices, I mean, you shouldn’t have sent them in the first place, and please do _not_ take this as an invitation to keep billing me for anything you want, especially when they’re things that literally fall out of the sky—

“I was listening. I know how much it meant to you,” he’s whispering by now, making himself smaller. He gives him a chance to take it in; Sokka keeps glancing at the rock, at Zuko, back at the rock. But the silence becomes unbearable quickly and he’s worried again that he’s misspoken somehow, that he read this wrong.

“Sokka, say something.

“Will you _please—_ ”

Sokka takes a deliberate step forward; Zuko takes an instinctive step back. Sokka almost grins at his reaction, then steps forward again.

“I don’t know what to say,” he says honestly.

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“Didn’t you just—”

“—I know.”

“Okay.” He steps forward once more time, until he’s right in Zuko’s space, giving him time to back away if that’s what he really wants, and then he wraps his arms around him, pulling him close until Zuko’s got a face full of chest and shoulder. He’s so much sturdier than he looks, which is a feat considering, and the slight difference in height makes it so Sokka has to really lean into him to burrow his face in Zuko’s hair. Zuko can feel the breeze on his arms but in his head there’s only the muggy sensation of Sokka’s deep breaths between them.

He’s the first to break away, keeping his hands on Zuko’s shoulders. His gaze is a little watery. Zuko doesn’t mention it.

“You’re gonna help, right?”

“If that's what you want.”

He nods.

“Then, yes.”

He smiles, pats Zuko jovially on the back. "I'm gonna get my sleeves, then we can get started, okay?" he asks like he's the one doing Zuko a favor. Maybe he is.

* * *

He’d been giving Sokka space, waiting for his letter in case it was an accident and his correspondence had gotten lost in transit, but now that he has some idea what’s going on, he writes to Hakoda and Katara, reiterates his promise to do anything in his power to get them anything they want or need in terms of supplies or otherwise. He’s nowhere near figuring out why Sokka’s avoiding him, but at least this he can fixate on. Sokka is still an ambassador to the Fire Nation, Zuko is the Fire Lord—checking in is just a matter of professional courtesy. Sure, Sokka’s not shirked his duties by any measurement, so it’s not necessary, but still. At least Zuko has professional courtesy on his side.

* * *

It's not that he doesn't believe him. He feels every bit pitiful as he does it, but he scrutinizes ever move Sokka makes in the quiet of the workshop. He wasn't exactly expecting a boisterous reaction, and Sokka is entitled to his quiet, of course, but it throws Zuko off balance nonetheless.

When the other boy comes back, he's still wearing that navy blue tunic, but now he's got the sleeves to match, the fabric stretching from his wrists to halfway up his biceps. He hands Zuko a leather apron, takes one for himself, and goes about inspecting the meteorite, crouching to run his fingers up and down its grooves. The metal crystals are large enough to extract whole, he declares, and once the uncomplicated yet tedious process of chipping at the rock is through, Sokka's moves to the grinding wheel. He picks up the pieces he's chipped off one by one, placing them up to the wheel as he runs it, waiting until they spark up and the whole space is lit up as if by lightning.

Zuko remembers the general process, but whatever Sokka's doing at the moment escapes him. When he asks, Sokka beckons him closer, hands over one of the metal pieces as he shifts to stand behind him.

Zuko feels him speak right beside his ear. "Place it up to the wheel," he starts, and Zuko follows his instructions. He tells him, _"_ Run it, slowly at first," then faster, working up to a good speed until there's sparks flying from the friction. Sokka points at them over his shoulders.

"See how the sparks shoot out straight?" Zuko nods. "That means it's low carbon steel, compared to something like this—" he picks at a chunk in the pile closest to him, motions for Zuko to try it out. The sparks explode in all different directions, like fireworks. "See how they branch out?"

Zuko nods again, unconsciously leaning in to get a closer look. A hand wraps around his waist and _pulls_ , until he's flush against Sokka's front. Zuko can feel his hand, hot through the cotton of his shirt, like he can feel the rumble of his chest as he chuckles.

" _Careful,_ " Zuko imagines his smile, "don't get too close or you'll hurt yourself."

The low-carbon ore is saved for the heart of the blade, the high-carbon for the edges. They grind all the pieces to a fine sand, place the two batches in the forge along with the charcoal until the molten steel runs down through the channel, hardening into small planks. They work the ore; their labor has them sweating from exertion even in the cold. Sokka keeps his silence, and Zuko heeds his lead, watching how the furrow in his brow turns hard over the course of the day in a way he can't blame solely on the metalwork.

* * *

There’s a nagging thought in his head that maybe he doesn’t know who Sokka is anymore. After all, the last time he saw him all those months ago he’d already shown up a changed man—taller, wider, ears decked in silver and gold. They met in a whirlwind that asked too much of them and now, they still have the weight of the world on their shoulders, but at least they have the space to breathe. In the wide open plain that stretches out in front of them, maybe they no longer fit together like they did before. Maybe they shouldn’t.

* * *

He places the sheets of metal on the anvil, quick, one on top of the others in layers for Sokka to pour clay over. Zuko returns the whole thing back into the forge to let the fire melt the planks into one. When he goes about cracking the clay, Sokka leaves and comes back with little bits of cotton to protect their ears. The real work begins.

Zuko handles the pliers and places the block of metal on the anvil while Sokka hammers away to flatten the steel. They repeat the process, Zuko taking the metal out, Sokka working it down, Zuko placing back in. The blows of the hammer echo in their ears, off of every surface in the shop, immediate and piercing. They spend hours refining the metal this way, until Sokka's muscles ache from bearing down on the metal and Zuko aches from being attuned to the heat of the forge, always calibrating and keeping it from reaching its critical point. They've both sweat through their clothes; Sokka's leather apron sticks to his front.

In and out, and in and out it goes until Zuko's loses track of how many turns it's been. Fat comes in some time when the sun is setting with a tray of food, aware they won't be making it inside for dinner. They eat on the floor, wolfing their komodo chicken down in between gulps of water, mouths too full to speak.

Sat at the edge of the shop, on the floor with his back to the fire and his front to tunnel of wind that forms through the courtyard, he's as cold as he's ever been. The sparse words Sokka’s said to him since he pulled him impossibly close have been indifferent, _over here, leave it a moment, ready._ When Sokka meets his gaze, he half grins until he turns back to his work, but when Zuko steals a glance at him his face is set as if what lies underneath is a grimace, as if he's not up to keeping up the act for any longer than he needs to. Sokka's dealing with enough—or so he presumes from what he's gathered from Suki, which isn't even much—and it's not fair to ask him to paste a smile on his face because Zuko doesn't know how to ask _Is this okay? Is it okay that I've done this?_ _That I know you? That, at least, I think I do?_

And maybe he's overreacting, grasping at straws where there's nothing, but he's tired of this push and pull like a riptide, taking over and threatening to drown him if he moves any which way. Piandao taught him well enough to expend his energy in the strike against him as it happens, to never waste energy anticipating an attack that may or may not come at the expense of the dangers actually before him. But it's Sokka, so he doesn’t know how to stop tuning himself to him, and a familiar sense of dread builds in his stomach, waiting for the final blow.

* * *

It’s the way he’s never felt the need to call himself the head chieftain’s son because he’s not royalty, he’s not any more special than any other kid in his tribe. And why should he be? So he’ll be beholden to nations and leaders who have no regard for him, for his people? So he can sacrifice himself for those who’ll barely bat an eye years later, no regard for all the loss that paid the price for their freedom? So he can look down on them as they disrespect his name, his good memory? So he can be chased out of his home in the middle of the night, bounty on his head, the highest in all the nations?

Sokka is who he is and that’s well enough for him, no title needed. He doesn’t need a title like a rack pulling in all directions until you’re broken because it’s not about you and the way the loops in your hair used to frame your face like a halo. It’s about the tribe, the good of the nations, the good of the world. It’s the good of the many over the good of the one. Sokka’s made his peace with it—he’s utilitarian as the rest of them. And he can smile with the best of them, too, go to the banquets and the meetings and pretend like the rest do that they’re important if that’s what it takes to fight for the things that matter. But _fuck_ if it doesn’t ache, he thinks. _Fuck_ if it doesn’t chip away at him until he’s unsure if there’s anything left.

* * *

His last night at the Spirit Oasis he apologizes for moping. He promises to do better, to listen to Suki’s advice and remember her at her most dazzling and not at his most futile. He asks for strength, to deal with Arnook’s lot. He asks after Suki, because she deserves only the best this world has to give her and he hopes that includes him but he’s accepted the possibility that it might not. He asks for forgiveness at his impertinence and then asks for clarity. Because there’s only a handful of people he’s ever seen red for. Yue should know, she was his first. Suki makes two, and his weakness cost them valuable time on the day of Black Sun.

* * *

Piandao shows up some time after that, both of them still in the throes of hammering away at the layers of steel; Sokka folded in the low-carbon steel before they ate, so the blade they have to show him is nearly formed. He's only there for a second, remarking on their progress, asking questions about the ore and the fire in the forge, but mostly content to leave them to do their own thing. There's a curious glint in his eyes as he walks past them, looking over his shoulder to find Sokka fully in it once more, heavy metal clanging in the crisp air, Zuko watching on in silence.

Zuko lights all the lamps as dusk begin to set, which keeps them warm as the darkness closes in around them. They work until Sokka mutters, _that's enough_ , and then there's nothing for Zuko to do except wait until they quench the sword.

Sokka grinds the slab of metal down until it resembles a blade, edged on both sides and coming to a sharp tip at the end. He leaves a portion left untouched at top for the grip. He readies the water and oil to quench the blade.

Zuko concentrates on the forge and lets it heat flow through him. He doesn’t take hold of the flames, doesn’t control them in the slightest; instead, he follows Sokka’s command and lets the forge do the work, only ensuring that the heat is even throughout the blade as it glows orange-red amidst the cinders. Sokka taps him on the arm, _now_ , and he seizes the blade out from the forge and into the water bath. The water boils instantaneously, sending spatter into the air, and it’s Zuko who’s pulling Sokka back this time, hand on his hips for a moment as strains to dissipate the heat down evenly out from the metal and into the water. Sokka taps his arm again, and he pulls the sword out, Zuko easing the temperature of the metal even further so it doesn’t crack in the cold. It goes back in the forge once it’s cool enough, and Zuko steadily heats it once more to repeat the process.

They go back and forth seven times, until the final quench in oil. Zuko’s sweat through his shirt twice over by now as he guides the heat in the metal, but the oil is easier to feel through. Sokka pulls the blade out one last time and even in its unpolished state it shines bright and black in the firelight. Zuko never got to see his first sword up close; this one looks like it belongs on another planet.

* * *

Zuko doesn’t know what he could have possibly done wrong.

But when he’s lying in bed staring up at the ceiling lined in burgundy and gold, it’s hard to beat back the voice of his father, saying, _Maybe being at home has reminded him of all you did, how you destroyed his tribe. Maybe spending time at the North Pole has reminded him of all_ we _did, how we hurt people the world over. Maybe he blames you for what happened to that girl. Maybe being back home has reminded him of what actually matters._

 _Or, maybe he’ll come back like nothing’s wrong, call you his friend. You’ll know, though, deep down, he doesn’t trust you. For the first time in a hundred years, the Water Tribes are growing stronger. Do you really believe he’d risk his home, his family, by trusting_ you _? The Fire Lord, my_ son _?_

It’s a disgusting train of thought, he’s aware, and in the mornings he shrugs it off by repeating, as he gets dressed, as he eats, in-between meetings: _I am not my father_. _I have chosen to not be my father_. It’s not justified for him to make himself the victim in this story or to twist what happened to them into a tale of self-centered woe.

Still, the thoughts plague him. There is seemingly no depth to how much he hates himself for it.

* * *

Zuko sharpens his own twin daos as Sokka sands and polishes his jian down, attaches the grip, guard, and pommel. He’s lost track of time, but it’s the middle of the night when Sokka sits beside him at the edge of the workshop, still putting the finishing touches on his sword. The pommel features the White Lotus tile at the end and the guard is made of a pale bronze that contrasts well with the gleaming black sword. By the time he joins Zuko, he’s engraved a circle in the bronze and he's going over it, adding shadings and details. Zuko splays out his feet before him, leaning back on his hands. When he looks over, he can see the engraving take the shape of the moon.

Sokka turns to him and Zuko stares back until he can't and then he turns to the pitch. He can feel how Sokka's still looking at him, scrutinizing him, until he turns back toward the sword. He engraves a little crest of waves next to the moon, then three tendrils of air, a trapezoid with a spiral inside going counterclockwise. A lick of flames follow, and then a fan splayed out wide.

Zuko’s got his swords in their scabbard beside him on the ground, not wanting to call it a night, but not wanting to do much of anything, either. He feels much like the steel they've been tempering: exhausted and hardened after a day of heating and cooling, expanding and contracting. Sokka regards the finished sword in his hand, turning it this way and that so it catches the light. Nearly twenty-four hours of hard labor.

He lasts about five seconds. Zuko can almost stomach the attempt at normalcy.

“All right, let’s go test this baby out,” he nudges Zuko on the shoulder, shakes his sword in front of him.

Zuko groans. “It’s late.”

“C’mooon,” he whines, “I’ve been waiting all day. Just a quick bout.” Zuko could lay him out in three seconds flat if he wanted to, but he doesn’t. He’s tired, and grimy, and it wouldn’t be the worst thing to get some space between them right now.

“Agni, aren’t you tired? Don’t you want to get cleaned up?”

“Yeah, but I also wanna try out my _brand new space sword._ ”

Zuko continues, not listening, “I think there’s more soot than air in my lungs right now.”

“Aren't you used to that?” he asks. Zuko glares at him. "Sorry, sorry."

He considers waiting until the morning, but the way the metal feels in his hand, heavy and familiar—he's not above begging.

“C'mon, it’ll be quick, I promise, then we can go to bed.”

“Sokka, no. We can spar tomorrow.” _We can spar tomorrow,_ he repeats to himself, _after we’ve had a talk because I don’t fight when I’m angry anymore and I’m not angry right now but I'm certainly not going to fight with you_.

“Please?”

He runs his hands over his face. “Sokka, no.”

“Pretty please?”

“ _No._ ”

“… Please please please please plea—”

“ _I said no!_ ” he snaps, heavy breathing too audible in the stillness that falls. Sokka backs away at the outburst. He lowers the sword in his hand slowly, placing it on the ground.

“We should go to bed,” Zuko says weakly, anything to diffuse the situation.

Sokka has other plans. “Are you all right?”

“I’m _fine_. Let’s go—”

“—Cause you’ve been acting weird all day, bro—”

He yells. He doesn't mean to. “ _I’ve_ been acting weird? Are you _kidding_ me right now?!” Suddenly, he’s towering above Sokka, Sokka scowling right back.

“Okay, what’s your damage, Zuko?”

“My ‘ _damage’_?”

“Are you just gonna repeat everything I say?” he sneers. “What’s your fucking _damage,_ bro?”

Zuko dives for his twin daos, steps back onto the pitch. He gets into a fighting stance, one sword held level with his face, the other at his chest.

“You wanna fight so bad, pick up your sword.” Sokka rolls his eyes, angry.

“I’m not gonna fight you like this.”

“Pick up your fucking sword, Sokka.”

He crosses his arms. “ _No._ ”

Zuko snarls and lunges, swiping his right sword at him. Sokka crouches, parries the blow at the last second.

“What the fuck!” he exclaims as he rises and chases Zuko back onto the pitch.

“I wasn’t even sure if you were gonna show—” He swipes from the left. Sokka jumps back, steps to his right to get away. Zuko tries a strike at Sokka’s open flank.

Sokka cuts off one blade, uses his momentum to spin and swipe at the other one coming at him.

“—I wrote you that I'd be here, didn't I?"

"It's the most I've heard from you in months, forgive me if I didn't believe it," he barks back as he feints a cut from above to catch him offguard. Sokka sees through him, parries at waist level so the blades clash violently between them. Sokka takes the chance to undercut him; Zuko jumps away, circles around him. They're both heaving as they sidestep.

“You could’ve let me know, like a professional, instead—“

“—Tell me, how do you say ‘fuck you’? Like a professional.”

Zuko breaks the circle and swipes at Sokka from the left and right, pushing against the edges of his blade out so the screech of steel on steel rings as Zuko drags him left and right by his sword. He leans in, “ _Like this_ ,” as Sokka grunts and looses his footing. He tumbles forward while Zuko goes back to circling around him, swords at the ready.

“Did it ever occur to you I might be worried about you?”

“You could’ve written me!”

“ _How?_! I didn’t even know where you _were_.”

"Oh, spare me the bullshit, why don't you say what's really on your mind?"

"You! You are on my mind!" He shouts, swords raised straight at him. "You’re always—" He stops.

"I hear from you day and night for weeks on end and then—" he waves the daos around "—complete silence. Nothing. Not even a _Hey, Zuko, I made it to the North Pole okay, don't worry about me_. Nothing! And it's been like this for _months_ , don't lie to me."

Sokka positively bristles. “I didn't know you were my keeper."

" _I'm not!_ " The words rip through him, echoing off the facade of the castle.

"I know you're busy, I know you're dealing with a lot, with the Northern Tribe and your home and Yue—"

"—You have _no_ _idea_ what I'm going through—"

"—and the last time we spoke we didn't—" A sad look flashes across his face. "That's not what I meant—"

"—It's what you _said_ —"

It's gone as soon as it came. "Why are you acting like this, for fuck's sake—"

"—I'm not acting like anything! You're the one yelling!"

He growls and lunges for Sokka again, traps the sword in the v of his twin blades and thrusts upwards until it goes airborne and falls to the side with a clang. He moves in and levels his crossed swords against Sokka's neck, careful not to break skin.

"Don't pin this on me like I'm just imagining things," Zuko seethes, looking up at him, inches away from his face. Sokka's eyes are wild, darting from his own, to the sweat on his brow, his lips, the swords, his eyes once more. Zuko can feel his heartbeat against hammering against the steel of his blade.

"Look.” He puts some space between them, breathes.

"I'm not saying you need to write to me all the time. I'm not a child, Sokka, it's fine, if you don't. Fine. But every time I see you, you act like nothing's happened, like nothing's changed, like I didn't have to ask Suki where you where because I didn't even _know_. You act like everything's fine—"

"Zuko," Sokka starts. He has the gall to look caught out. Zuko cuts him off.

" _Don't_ —You don't need to tell me. If you don't want me to know, you don't need to tell me. But don't be a dick, Sokka. Don't pretend like nothing's happened. Don't pretend to be my friend cause of everyone else—"

"— _What the fuck_ , Zuko? I've never pretended to be anything with you—"

"—I know you only agreed to let me in because Aang needed a teacher. And I think, for a while, we had some good times, y'know, considering.” He feels the fight leave him. "Maybe we were something like friends, when it was all of us at the temple, or at the palace those first couple of months, but now?"

" _We're still friends_ ," he insists fiercely.

"You either talk my head off or you ignore me completely and I never know which it's gonna be—I never know what's gonna set you off. I never know what I'm doing wrong."

Sokka feels a lump growing in his chest as Zuko goes on, voice threatening to break. He pleads, "That's _not_ what this is,” but he's undeterred, words tumbling out of him as if he they've been cooped up too long.

"—I'm trying so hard. To be better, so you, all of you—What I did, what my dad did, Azula did, I'm trying to make things right this time. But it's not like my dad left me the best manual on how to run things. My people don't trust me, I'm sure the generals hate me, Suki tries to keep me in the dark but I know full well just how much some of them want Ozai back."

Sokka sees the tears on his face now, mistaking them for sweat at first. Zuko does his best to keep his voice steady and small. "All of you grew up surrounded by people who loved you, and I'm still catching up but I don't know how to do this. Any of it, you and everyone else. I just— _can't_ do both at the same time. I can't. I can't focus on doing right by them if I'm worried about you and it'll be easier if we stop doing this, just stop.

“—Zuko, for once—“

"—I don't know how it'll be with Suki, that's for you two to figure out, but I'm not gonna force anything with you anymore. We should keep things professional from now on. It’ll be easier. If that's what you want. If not—"

It's late, he remembers. Despite all he's said, he doesn't actually think he can bear to hear Sokka tell him that he's right, that this is an end of sorts. "We can—we can discuss that later." 

Sokka reaches out to him, the dismissal striking a chord. Zuko retreats, gathers his swords, bows low. He can barely hear him from the blood rushing in his ears.

“I was only trying to do something nice. There's enough steel left for you to make another sword, if you wish. Goodnight, Sokka.” And he leaves.

* * *

Zuko heads downstairs in the morning—really only hours later—steeling himself for the conversation ahead; he's ready to apologize, to demand an apology, and to hear Sokka out. His bags are packed and he's ready to go, but he's not leaving until they've had it out. Properly this time.

Sokka's the first to see him come down, right after Piandao asks him to let him go, right after Sokka refuses and hugs the man a little while longer. He sees the way his body tenses, the way his face shuts down, blank, as he takes in the sight before him—Sokka dressed in his traveling clothes, bags at his feet, Fat at the door.

He finally lets Piandao be, bows low enough the scabbard he's just gifted him hits the floor with a thud. He says his final thank yous, says goodbye to Fat, while Zuko slowly makes his way across the room, looking on.

He turns to him once he's ready. "Walk me out?" Zuko meets his eyes for a second only, then nods.

Sokka doesn't take any chances when they're outside, explaining himself before Zuko barrels through another speech.

"Katara sent a letter. It arrived this morning, after you'd left." He jokes, "I think our shouting helped it find its way." Zuko ignores him.

"Is everyone okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, everyone's fine," he says quickly, "Some of the woodworkers reneged on the compromise we reached with Arnook and told her they're doubling their rate or they're walking. Katara and Dad can't start building without them and the whole thing'll get backtracked before it's even started if they back out. I'm going up North to smooth things over and make sure they actually get on a ship and make it to the South Pole."

"Can't Katara handle it?" Sokka shakes his head, looks down at his feet as he walks. Well, she could. But.

"It's my deal, I should be the one to fix it. She shouldn't have to clean up my messes when she's got enough to deal with back home."

They reach the gate and Sokka can practically pinpoint the second Zuko shifts into _Fire Lord_ Zuko: his stance widens, his shoulders set, and he stands as if Sokka could run a string straight from the base of his spine to the crown of his head.

"We've got an agreement to send blacksmiths to the Northern Water Tribe in exchange for their woodworkers," he explains, as if Sokka hadn't been there when they'd set it up. "If Arnook backs down, we can use it as leverage to get you what you need. I'll have to go back to the palace to plan it out so it's effective, but that should give you enough to work with."

"It's too early for talks of leverage," he replies. "Or, I hope so, anyway. But thanks. I'll keep it in mind."

He shifts the straps of his bags on his shoulders as they stand in front of the door, waiting. He feels guilty, for letting Katara down, for letting Zuko down, but it's not as if they had that much time to begin with. Sokka had put away the days that he could, but even then it was never going to be enough. After last night, though, he's loath to think about his behavior, about how much time they wasted and how much time he would need to fix it and explain himself properly. In truth, he's a hair away from throwing it all to the polar dogs.

"Good luck—"

"I'll see you soon—"

They both start at once, going silent as they realize their mistake. Zuko winces.

"Sokka, I don't know... "

"Please?" He reiterates, softly this time, "Please."

"Okay," he says, "I'll see you soon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two bros forging a sword five feet apart cause they’re not gay aka forging a sword is actually something that can be so personal aka i literally wrote this listening to in the air tonight on repeat ajkkdakjshkdjlhfd can u tell
> 
> now is a good time to mention sokka's whole character is based on the crack up - fleet foxes and zuko's is based on neon bible - arcade fire and i think that's important to know bc they're both Iconic albums and i think everyone should listen to them
> 
> also i am unfortunately not a swordsmith1!! so if i got something wrong about metal or swords i apologize i am dumb and took one earth science course in college but it was a morning class and i hate earth science and fun fact zuko's worry about using the term rock is based on real life cause i had to google if meteorites were considered rocks that's how dumb i am
> 
> also!! i tried to finish this last week but i think i got like....five hours of sleep total and life is a mess lmao so that did Not happen :((( so if u have anything nice to say um..........now is certainly A Time.......


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